


The Devil's Inside My Head

by Hades_the_Blingking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, BAMF Sam, Bottom Dean, Canon Compliant, Cas lovers be warned the angst is real, Castiel gets tortured a wee bit, Dean has dirty af dreams, Dean in Denial, Domestic Fluff, Help, Humour, Language, Lucifer Kinkshames Castiel, Lucifer Possessing Castiel, Lucifer is a nasty piece of work tbh, Lucifer is up to something, Lucifer stop, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pain, Repressed Dean, Sam Fucking Winchester, Sam Ships It, Sam is very done and very sassy, The sex happens, Top Castiel, Violence, Wing Kink, but an enjoyable one?? idk, but not a delicate violet bottom more of a power bottom, castifer - Freeform, conversations in castiels head, for one chapter, his bisexual subconscious has come to haunt him, it hurts, ok so maybe there's a bit more angst than I planned, repressed masturbation, s11, sassy Cas is sassy, then it's back to the pain, why is there so much angst, you can't really write about spn without a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hades_the_Blingking/pseuds/Hades_the_Blingking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These chapters are a slight deviation from some S11 episodes (so spoilers), with new destiel-fuelled interactions between Lucifer, Castiel, Sam and Dean. I'll see how the actual series goes to decide how it continues and ends (tbh I'm not sure where I'm going with everything, but I hope it works out along the way). Comments would be appreciated, especially if you spot a typo or something similar. :)</p>
<p>Castiel thought he knew what to expect from Lucifer - manipulation, torture or even death. But it doesn't take long for the Devil to realize Castiel's true feelings for Dean, and the angel begins to wish he'd never said yes when he sees what Lucifer has in store for them.<br/>Meanwhile, Dean is neck-deep in denial and guilt over both Amara, the being whose infectious attraction he can't refuse and Cas, the angel he has always made a few too many exceptions for in his heart. Will he ever be able to allow himself what he truly wants?<br/>And Sam? Sam has been waiting for Castiel and Dean to get hitched and stop mooning over each other for <em> seven years. </em></p>
<p>On indefinite hiatus for now, I am so sorry, I go curl up in a trash can now.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Devil's In The Details (Castiel Has A Crush And Satan Has A Plan)

**Author's Note:**

> I refer to Cas' vessel being controlled by Lucifer as Lustiel, Castiels voice as Castiel and Lucifer's voice as Lucifer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel gets a rowdy roommate.

_Not_ my _Dean!_ Was the last thing Castiel thought before he tackled Lucifer against the cage wall. The broken, tired little angel was obviously no match for one of the most powerful archangels ever created, but when the Winchesters were involved, when Dean was involved, Castiel would bite and claw and batter his enemy with broken wings for as long as it took to save them. Lucifer seemed to be in a merciful mood today, so Cas did not fall prey to the old explosion trick. Good, because being punched repeatedly in the face would get him quality time with the Devil.  
He’d thought about their situation. He’d thought about it long and hard. Amara had strength to outmatch all the power of the heavenly host combined. They had no archangels left, apart from the pair in Hell, but Castiel could feel that Michael was in worse condition than he was himself, and that was definitely saying something. Michael couldn’t save them. Castiel couldn’t save them. Despite their ridiculous hope and dogged determination, the Winchester boys were in too deep as well this time. But Lucifer? Right now, he was the most powerful being that existed on Earth, apart from God’s sister. But if Sam took him in, Dean would stop at nothing to get Lucifer out, even if they took the entire planet down with them. Like what was happening right now. Creation seemed to have doused these two in a little too much brotherly love. But then, who was he to think like that? Castiel sighed as Satan broke his nose. The things he’d done for the humans…the things he had done for one human in particular…and still he was the expendable one. Ambriel had been correct. Sam and Dean had to live on together, but they all needed the power of Lucifer. There was only one option.  
“Any last words?” Lucifer raised a smiting first, a smile playing on those satanic lips.  
“Can you really beat her?” Castiel hoped that both Dean and Sam had been pulverised enough that they were too concussed to hear this conversation.  
“I can.”  
“Then yes.”  
The other entity slammed into Castiel. His consciousness was thrown back, but not destroyed like he’d been prepared for. Power, not unlike the kind he had gained while in his god phase, surged through the reinvented vessel.  
“Hiya brother.” Inside Castiel’s head, Lucifer winked at him. “It’s a bit of a tight fit in here, but you know I kind of like it like that.”  
Of all the angels except for perhaps Gabriel, Lucifer had always been the most inappropriate.  
“Why am I still here?” Castiel’s deadpan gravel-voice made the question sound more like a statement. Lucifer focussed part of his power on walking them out the temporary holding cage with Sam and Dean.  
“Because we are going to have so much fun, _Cas_. And besides, if I don’t have anyone to talk to I get so bored.” Satan pouted as Crowley talked. “And thanks to you I’m out and about and I don’t have to watch Michael cry in a corner while I throw darts at him. That was getting old. So I think giving you a first-row seat to the Lucifer concert is the least I can do, hmm?”  
The archangel cocked his head, but Castiel knew this was less of a reward and more of a free torture session. This was Lucifer after all.  
“Please kill me now.”  
“Aw, don’t be like that now, it’s so unoriginal. But shhh now, I think big brother Winchester wants to talk to us.” Lucifer turned away and Castiel suddenly found himself with a BDSM ball gag between his teeth. The lesser angel shot Satan a glare, but couldn’t really do much else.  
“You alright?” A bruised-up Dean turned to look at him, concern surfacing in those shielded green eyes. Castiel just wanted to reach forward and heal up all his injuries, tell him that Sam was always going to be safe from Lucifer now and that everything would be ok. He wished he’d had time to say goodbye somehow to this human he was so fond of, but that would not have been appropriate.  
“I think so.” Lustiel nodded, as Lucifer turned towards Castiel with his eyebrows raised. The smaller angel tried to banish the longing that he realized emanated from him, but it was too late. “I will be.”  
“Can I give you a lift?” Dean gestured towards the Impala.  
“No, you two go on ahead. I’ll catch up.” Lustiel replied as Lucifer paced around Castiel with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised even higher.  
“Okay.” As Dean left, he clutched his back in pain. A bubble of emotion that Castiel furiously tried to squash rose up within him; the guilt for going behind Dean’s back again, the sadness that Dean would never care for him as much as Castiel cared for Dean and the ache somewhere within him whenever he saw this human. Years ago, he thought it would go away, that he would get too busy or too tired to care. But no matter how many times Dean yelled at him or hated him or even beat him up, the ache would not go away.  
“Cas- _ti-el._ ” Lucifer shot him an incredulous look as Lustiel gave Sam a nod. “I mean, I thought you stuck by those dirty little monkeys with a little too much loyalty, but _really_?”  
Castiel simply hissed through the gag.  
“You can’t hide anything from me, trenchcoat boy, I mean, I wish you could…” Lucifer pulled a face of disgust as they turned to walk back into Hell. “You’re in love with a human? Seriously, why not just get jiggy with a pig, it would almost be less degrading!”  
Lucifer just chuckled at the waves of anger radiating off the other angel. “Ooh, I hit a bit of a sore spot there. Even you’re ashamed of yourself.”  
If looks could kill, the Devil would have been toast. Unfortunately, even Castiel’s death glare wasn’t enough to phase the archangel. Or maybe it did.  
“Oh go on then.” Lucifer flicked a finger and the gag disappeared.  
“God didn’t believe that. God entrusted his son to a human!” Castiel growled, but Satan just burst out laughing.  
“Oh, so _Dean Winchester_ is your Virgin Mary? Oh I can so totally see that.” Lucifer was laughing so hard that satanic tears began to hiss down his cheeks. It took them three flights of hell-stairs before the Devil could breathe properly again.  
“What is so funny?” Castiel hated that Lucifer could see the indignation, embarrassment and hope that were pulsing off him.  
“Where did you learn all these emotions, little Cas? Did _Dean_ teach them to you?” Lucifer’s eyebrows were going to earn high-flier points soon, as the archangel realized he’d struck the bullseye. Castiel had nothing to say, but the Devil just paced around him again. The lesser angel could feel his kin sifting through his memories and there was nothing he could do to stop him.  
Lucifer narrowed his eyes, reading. “Dean means everything to you. You fell for him – in more ways than one unfortunately, you gave up an entire army of angels for him…ohohoo, this is good. Gross, but good.”  
Castiel suddenly saw the plan that just sprang from the Devil’s melting pot of evil mechanisms. “No. No, Lucifer, please…”  
The archangel just waggled his eyebrows. “See? I told you we were going to have sooo much fun.”  
Castiel groaned as Lustiel tossed some panicked demons out the way. Yes, they might save the world. But with what Lucifer had planned with Dean…was it worth it?


	2. Into The Mystic - Part 1 (Dean Dreams A Dream)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which what could have been a threesome turns into murder and a twosome, proving bisexual love triangles are as dangerous as straight ones.

“Mmph.” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed when he realized his ‘mmph’ had been directed into a red silk pillow. What? The hunter sat up and peered about room. It looked like he was in the bedroom of some high-class whore; the mood lighting was down, the closets to the left were covered in a bed-length mirror and this bed could easily fit two people. Hell, it’d been ages since he’d slept in something this big or comfy. Right beside him on the nightstand was a copy of his favourite magazine, Busty Asian Beauties.  
“Hey, now that’s what I like to see.” Dean’s roguish smile flashed back at him from the mirror as he rolled up and reached for the magazine.  
“Dean.” A low, female voice came from the doorway. Something twisted in Dean’s gut and he knew who was standing there before he looked. Amara. Black, low-cut dress, shiny bangs, smoky eyes the whole deal. What they were both doing in a place like this was beyond Dean, but hey, when it was God’s sister you were talking about here, anything could be possible.  
“What the hell is this?” Dean hated the way his pulse picked up around her. It was like this attraction was an infection, a disease that his mind was fighting. His body however? Well, it had different ideas.  
“It’s meant to be, Dean. You know it.” The woman swished closer, and Dean swallowed to stop his breath from hitching. Dammit. He should just leave; stand, push past the bitch and get out. But his legs wouldn’t let him get up from where he sat perched on the edge of the bed. He didn’t want her…he…he didn’t know what he wanted. But definitely not her. Yeah, let’s go with that.  
“What you’re selling? I’m not buying it, so send me back from where you hauled my sorry ass from.” But Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He just couldn’t. Everything about her seemed somehow alluring to him in a way his mind didn’t want to recognize.  
“I want you Dean. I want you now.” That black dress hitched up, and a smooth thigh slid over one side of his hips, then the other. It was like her body was a pillar of warmth while he was freezing to death. He wanted to touch her, drink in the sensation of her skin, satisfy the horrid craving. Amara’s eyes and lips glinted in the low light, and he couldn’t stop his hands from wandering up her waist.  
“Amara…” Dean’s pathetic protest was cut off when soft lips pressed against his. This was the worst part. Now? Now he would never be able to say no. His body practically flung itself at her and it made him feel so used and dirty.  
“Dean…” Amara gasped into his mouth as his hands tore the shoulders from her dress. She lifted his shirt off in response, but as soon as it was gone, Dean’s arms and lips seemed to work by themselves as he pulled her body against him and sucked a path down that irresistible neck. It was like watching someone else move his body from the prison of his mind, and he suddenly understood the hatred vessels had for their hosts. The sister of God pulled back from him and her timeless brown eyes met his.  
“Dean, we must become one.” A long finger tugged on his belt, and Dean wanted it, he wanted it so much, but at the same time the thought made him sick to the stomach. “You can’t resist this.”  
“Get off him you bitch.” Castiel’s gravelly snarl had never been more musical to Dean’s ears. The tip of an angel blade crunched out of the left side of Amara’s chest. Dean fell back flat on the bed as darkness swirled out of her eyes, mouth and fingertips, pouring inwards until, in a sonic boom, she imploded. Nothing big, nothing spectacular, just gone.  
“C-Cas?” Dean lifted himself up onto his forearms and stared in amazement at the angel. The fire Dean had missed so much burned in Castiel’s eyes as they raked the hunter up and down. There was something about right here and right now that made the cut of the angel’s jaw so appealing to Dean. Well maybe it always had been. Or maybe it was because he was already aroused, Dean told himself as his eyes flitted down to those full lips. A deep part of him wanted the angel to kiss him and kiss him until he couldn’t taste that bitch’s lipstick anymore. But he couldn’t admit it. He could never admit it.  
“How did you do that?”  
“It does not matter how, Dean.” Castiel’s eyes took another pass, but this time they took their time. Every inch of Dean’s skin simmered with heat under his gaze, but nothing about this felt poisonous or wrong. He just wanted Cas to be closer. “What matters is that she is gone and I am here.”  
The angel blade hit the floor along with Castiel’s trenchcoat, and the holy being looked utterly sinful as he crawled up beside Dean on the bed on all fours, that brilliant blue stare like the gaze of a hunting cat.  
“Huh.” Dean’s brain had sparked out again, but in a more relaxed kind of way. Hell, he realized he’d just bitten his lip like a horny schoolgirl. The part of him still labouring under John Winchester’s terrible parenting skills and the need to be more than a disappointment yelled _shame on you, Dean!_ But that part that had grown the heck up just widened his eyes and his breath hitched something fierce as the angel came closer. A hand slid up along Dean’s jaw and clenched in his short hair – hey, he wasn’t Sam. Castiel’s face was inches from him now, and he could feel the other man’s warm breath on his face. Dean all of a sudden became very aware that he was splayed out on a bed, nose to nose with another man and had a hard-on that'd just dampened his briefs with excitement. Holy shit. He didn't want to move and somehow burst this bubble of self-acceptance he'd somehow found himself in.  
“Dean, I want you to know something.” How Cas stayed so deadpan in a situation like this, Dean had no idea. The hunter’s lips tingled, pre-empting what a kiss from Castiel would feel like. He'd thought about it. In the dark, alone, half drunk and horny, when his barriers were most weak, oh yeah he'd thought about it.  
“What? What?” _Just kiss me already_ was the only thing going through Dean’s mind. Amara was all but forgotten. The possessive burn in Cas's eyes left Dean breathless as the angel's expression went from a blank canvas to a snarl.  
“You’re mine.” With that Cas pressed his lips against Dean’s and the hunter felt as though he’d gone to Heaven, pun intended. Dean had never been made so dizzy with only a kiss; adrenaline shot into his system and buzzed hot along his cheeks. It started out gentle, moving slow, but it seemed that both of them wanted to cut the beginner’s crap and head straight for the hot, messy, full tongue kiss. Sensation and blind desire made their mouths work against each other with even more desperation - it filled Dean up with a fire that burned up any inhibitions he'd had about kissing a dude. Cas gave a groan so full of possessive hunger that Dean’s arms collapsed from the shock of such a noise being directed at him from an angel. Cas all but fell on top of him, but the smaller guy didn’t seem to mind at all – instead of trying to regain lost territory, he moved to explore something new. An undignified gasp tore from Dean's lips as gentle teeth scraped the curve of his neck. Those pretty lips sucked down his throat and sparking zings of pleasure zapped in all directions through Dean's body. His legs jerked open wider as his erection pulsed and searched for friction, but Cas was on a warpath. Dean's hand mussed in his hair and the hunter gritted his teeth against an unexpected moan as the tip of that hot tongue slid over the hard nub of his nipple. Was the angel _toying_ with him? How - the next thought melted from his brain as he looked down; Cas's smouldering blue gaze flicked up to his, then he grazed his teeth down Dean's obliques, sucked long, hot kisses into the hunter's taught abs and nuzzled his hip bone as Dean gulped in air like he'd just run a marathon, eyes wide with shock at his own reaction and this...this frickin blue-eyed _minx!_ Angels weren't meant to know this stuff! Before the human could voice any sort of coherent question or even word in edgeways, Cas pinned Dean's arms flat against the bed with irresistible strength. That stroked a sweet spot. God, that stroked a sweet, masochistic little nerve inside his head, and a shiver fled from his pecs right down to his cock, which swelled and ached, it was so hard. Dean looked down and the ghost of a moan left his lips as he saw Cas bent over him like a hunting panther. Beneath those long, dark eyelashes, Dean could make out the telltale burn of bright white-blue Grace in the eyes that were _so_ coveting him. God he’d never seen Cas like this! Dean bit back a moan and reckoned he'd never been so damn hard in his life.  
“Cas, Cas,” Dean panted as that burning tongue reached his belt, so close to the proximity of his tortured dick, and Dean's breath hitched in almost fear. He had a prowess in the bedroom, a reputation, and knew that if Cas jerked him off, skill level regardless, he was going to blow his load like a teenager. Dean's vision blurred and dotted with silver and black as he tried to move his arms. How had the angel known so damn well that he liked being pinned down and helpless? Had he used his goddamn mind-reading?  
“Do you want me to stop?” Eyes that shone with a lustful light of Heaven met his, and Cas's gravelly voice hit a new, low timbre. The angel was on the borderline of his control, and Dean couldn't get enough of it.  
"No, G – I mean seriously, no.” The first part of the sentence was a high gasp, until Dean steeled himself to get a grip. It probably wasn’t a turn on to beg using the name of Castiel’s father. If Cas started moaning ‘John, John’ anytime soon, Dean would probably lose the mood a bit. A gentle hand spread Dean's thighs, and even though he was still wearing jeans he gasped, swallowed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling as his hands clenched in the duvet. If Cas touched the significant bulge in between his legs, Dean would be writhing. But the angel just knelt between his thighs and spread them even wider with an appreciative stare. Dean felt like a complete whore and happy about it.  
“Good.” Cas's voice and eyes verged on predatory. The angel didn’t even bother undoing his lover’s belt. Fingers curled under the waistline of Dean’s jeans and with a _riiip_ the denim and his underwear were shreds.  
“That’s – that’s not fair.” Dean growled out in an attempt to smother a whimper of delight as his eager cock was released from the confines of the fabric. Cas’s goddamn blessed mouth bit and sucked at the insides of his thighs and the hunter's hips gave an involuntary jerk. “You’re still fully - ahh! - dressed...”  
Dean's vision clouded for a second. He couldn't remember being this out of control in the bedroom, but _God_ he loved the thought of being thoroughly nailed into this mattress. Castiel knelt up between his legs, and if it weren’t for the unbridled light of desire in his eyes that sent a thrill of excitement through Dean’s stomach, he would have looked like the dork angel he usually was, if a bit ruffled up. Cas simply leaned forward and moved his arms to either side of Dean’s neck, until his tie draped on the human’s chest. Their eyes met, and Dean's ass contracted with lust. Barely-repressed Grace simmered beneath those challenging blue eyes, and the power of the creature he was naked and spread like a whore beneath took his breath away. He couldn't resist, but this time he didn't want to resist.  
“Then take it off.” That cocky tone of voice hadn’t been used on Dean in a long time, but it worked, holy crap it worked. The hunter was a mess of desire, sweat and eagerness; he practically tore the buttons off Cas's shirt while the angel cocked his head with a small, dominant smirk. Castiel sat back on his knees and let Dean work, and the hunter's breath hitched as he caught the sight of the hard, pretty impressive bulge in Cas's trousers. But the deep-seated fear - insecurity - that would have usually reared its ugly head did nothing in response. So Dean thought 'what the hell' and lapped his tongue down Cas's taught stomach. The angel caught his hair and back and his hands massaged in the rhythm to Dean's tongue while the most hot little moans left his lips.That Cas could make such noises, that grim, gravel-voiced angel...quivers of disbelief shot through his hips and up his already too-sensitive dick. Holy crap, he wanted....he wanted....Cas's moans melted into a ragged groan of indulgence that wracked down Dean's spine as he pushed the other man's dress pants down and sank his fingertips into those seriously amazing angelic ass muscles. Booty he could appreciate on anyone, and damn did Cas have an ass. His eyes widened as the loose fabric slipped off to reveal Cas's large, hard-as-fuck cock, but his inhibitions seemed to have taken a holiday.Then the sudden forbidden desire to swallow it down screeched to a halt as the hunter looked back up to the angel's flushed face. A memory he wished he could forget poisoned Dean's lust for a moment.  
“Cas, I’m so sorry for when I beat the crap outta you, I see it all the time in my head and – “  
“Angels are good at forgiveness, Dean. And I forgive you.” Castiel didn’t give Dean the option to reply, because in one fluid move the angel covered his mouth with a hot, powerful kiss, pushed Dean flat on the duvet and hoisted the hunter's thighs around his waist with one inhumanely strong hand. The servant of God pulsed so hot against his body, against his ass, that Dean clawed his fingers into Cas’s back and invaded the angel’s mouth back with his tongue hard, as the sudden need for satisfaction bulldozed everything else out the way. Castiel gave a high moan, a sound that shot a quiver of sweet disbelief through Dean’s stomach, and thrust that firm rod between his ass-cheeks in a quick, hard rhythm, only teasing where Dean really wanted it. The desire that the older Winchester had never allowed himself to experiment with slammed to the front of his mind and leapt out in four grunted words.  
“Cas. In me. Now.”  
“Patience is a virtue, Dean.” Even the angel’s voice was edged with a kind of desperation Dean never though he'd hear and the best kind of disbelief shot another throb of frustrated heat to the slick head of his cock. The rhythm Cas drove now was too much like sex, and Dean's whole body quivered as that hot, sticky member teased past his entrance again. Fingers tweaked one of his nipples and ripped a shocked gasp out of Dean's mouth as his ass spasmed. If Cas kept this up for much longer, Dean was going to blow his load regardless. Where in all hell had the all-but-virgin angel learned all of this? That freakin’ reaper?  
“Well I ain’t frickin virtuous, so get in me already!” Dean barked as well as he could, but it came off as more of a jolted plea as he ground against that stiffness. Not a line he’d ever imagined himself saying, but it had been...never since pleasure had made his head swim with this kind of unholy, ravenous desperation. Every inch of his skin craved Cas to touch him, stroke him, fill him, give him release and he was moments away from begging - yes _begging_. His dick throbbed need up through his stomach and balls and Cas wasn’t even riding him properly. In the mirror, Dean could see with blurred, feverish eyes, a huge pair of black wings stretched to their full extent from between Castiel’s powerful shoulders. Every feather quivered with desire, and it was such a turn on that only Dean's prolific bedroom experience stopped him coming right there and then.  
" _Cas!_ " Dean cried, without a care how he sounded.Those wings arched higher in a display of a dominant angel claiming its mate, and Castiel looked down on him, eyes entirely filled with that bright glow. Without hesitation the angel gave a sharp grunt, angled himself, and Dean threw his head back with a loud cry of satisfaction as he was finally filled. The hunter couldn’t control his quivering stomach or thighs and all his muscles shone with sweat. He was a panting, groaning, pleasure-hungry mess, and the fact that Castiel was too only made it worse – or better. Every quick, powerful thrust right on that good spot punched a less and less restrained sound from Dean's mouth. He could hardly breathe, he couldn’t control his shaking body, a line of saliva worked down his cheek – Dean was literally drooling as he moaned and clung to Castiel. Pleasure built and built until nothing even felt real any more. Wait a minute…

Oh crap. Dean started awake as his body shuddered in the peak of pleasure. His dick had pushed out of the band on his fabric boxers in his (eventful) sleep and a spatter of jizz shot hard up his stomach and even higher. Oh _crap_. What the heck? Dean, seriously, what the hell?? His breath came in ragged gasps, more from panic than anything else. He needed a drink. Goddamnit, he needed ten drinks and a comatose. A stroke of horror washed through him. That hadn’t…that hadn’t really been Cas, had it? Dean was damn well aware that the angel could dream surf if he wanted to. If that sonofabitch had…had _dream seduced_ him, he’d give that trench-coated asshole such an earful that he wouldn’t be able to hear prayers for a week! Dean tried to stifle a stupid whimper as the wake of his orgasm shook him again but it was too close to a sob for his liking. Damnit, damnit, no! He knew...sometimes...Cas _did_ look good, ok? But...The hunter shook his head with such violence that a bone popped. He needed to get the sound of Cas's desperate, orgasmic moans out of his head before he thought about them too much.  
“Dammit Dean!” The hunter tried to cling to his anger toward himself or Cas, whoever was responsible and tried to stop his hands shaking. Anger he understood. “Ok, you’re gonna get up, take a shower and pretend this _never_ happened.”  
Dean didn’t want to admit to himself that he really, _really_ wanted to remember that dream, so he sent it to be squashed under a pile of angst, lies and self-hatred like he did with most things he didn’t want to face.

After his shower, Dean picked up the case he’d found last night and stumbled into the kitchen to drown his self-induced sorrows in a breakfast that he hoped would consist of some delicious leftover takeaway or a six-pack pick-me-up. But instead of the kitchen being empty, there was Sam doing a field run of his guns. What a frickin nerd. Then it hit the older Winchester that he might have done more than moan in his sleep. What if he’d yelled ‘get in me Cas’ for the entire world to hear? Not awesome. He wouldn’t hear the last of it for the rest of his short life.  
“Hey.” Dean went with a cool, nonchalant tone. “How long have you been up?”  
“I dunno.” Sam didn’t seem like a smarmy dick, so Dean figured he was off the hook. If Cas hadn’t done it then nobody had to know, and Dean could forget about this whole deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that got heated sooner than I expected :P I've kind of realized I've bitten off quite a huge project to 'destiel' every Cas episode, but I'm enjoying writing it so much at the moment that I'm just going to continue, even though Into The Mystic is probably gonna take up like, 3 chapters. Dean is so in denial it's almost painful. On that note, any tips on writing Dean's quirks would be great, as I'm not American and half the time I don't get his pop culture references D: I'm also not sure if this chapter qualifies as M or E, so opinions on that would be great too c: I hope you all enjoy it, and thanks for the comments and kudos so far! :)


	3. Into The Mystic - Part 2 (Dean Is So In Denial It Hurts And Castiel Has Piranha Problems)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucifer gets his flirt on and Castiel is subjected to slow-motion Dean.

“You know, I’ve always liked birds.” Lucifer sighed and made their shared vessel toss some bread to the seagulls on the river. Castiel was already getting a headache, if that was possible in his current form of existence. “Maybe I should turn Dean into a bird. Then at least I could stand the sight of him.”  
“Why must you always bring up Dean?” Castiel growled. Oh, he had tried ignoring Satan for a while, but when his thoughts were as good as spoken words, it had not lasted long.  
“Oh, don’t get jealous – he’s not my type. His legs are too… squat and bandy, y’know?” Lucifer bared his teeth in distaste, and other angel couldn’t help the spark of anger that flared up within him. There was no flaw to Dean’s body that he knew of. Perhaps his liver and cholesterol level, but Castiel always made sure to fix them up when he healed other injuries.  
“But with you around it’s impossible to avoid!” Lucifer continued, a look of faux concern, or perhaps real concern on his face. “It’s like your basic angel coding is just different combinations of the word ‘Dean’. I mean, just listening to your thoughts is like trying to decode a Morse message made up of ‘Deans’ of varying length. It might drive _me_ crazy!”  
“Well then don’t listen. And besides, it’s not that… bad.” There were times when Castiel didn’t think of Dean. A few times. Some times. Lucifer’s eyebrows just flew higher than most angels could in this age, and he sent Castiel a look of patronizing disbelief.  
“Lying is a sin trenchcoat boy.” The Devil lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “I would know.”  
Castiel simply rolled his eyes to high Heaven. “Anyway, what are we doing here? We’re meant to be looking for ways to end Amara.”  
“Jealousy is a sin too Cas.” Lucifer sent him a disapproving look. “And lust while we’re on the topic. Especially your lust. Even I don’t approve of that one.”  
It would be useless to tell the archangel that it wasn’t true, so Castiel just pressed his question again. “You do remember Amara, right?”  
“Don’t get sassy with me Sasstiel.” Lucifer paced closer to him, and the lesser angel cried out as every piece of his being felt as though it were being stabbed by needles. “You’re only here because I want you to be. As for the location – well what do you expect? I’ve been locked up in the dark for five years. You can’t blame me for wanting to get a bit of a suntan.”  
The archangel turned back to the world outside and Lustiel tossed the last of the bread to the gulls. Castiel panted as he was released from the pain. He had forgotten how petty the Devil could be.  
“We’re all a little petty trenchcoat boy. I mean, you should have felt how angry you got when I insulted Dean’s legs.” Despite his brief indulgence in torture, Lucifer seemed to be in a good mood. So Castiel kept his trap shut and his mind as blank as he could. “Ahhh, it’s nice to be back.”  
Lustiel sat on a park bench and rested his eyes on the children running about on the playground.  
“It’s such a shame I have to stay on the down-low though. Making those parents torture their children to the brink of death then releasing them from my hold to see what they had done would be so much fun. Or maybe turning the children into murderous little brats so that the parents have to kill them in self defence…Opinions Sass-Cas?”  
“My opinion is that another angel just sat down on that bench over there.” Castiel tried to ignore the gore-drenched scenes Lucifer was making him watch. Humans didn’t deserve such torment. Angels were meant to protect them.  
“Oh, look at that. Finally some company that isn’t completely obsessed with Dean Winchester.” A cold smile crossed those satanic lips as Lustiel got up in an almost too-casual manner. Castiel sighed. This was going to be a long campaign.

 

After Lucifer, the father of all lies, the spreader of sin, the serpent of corruption and the prince of darkness had finished his somewhat explosive nature walk, he seemed to be ready to get down to business. They arrived at the bunker with a single flap of undamaged archangel wings. Castiel had to admit to himself that the sensation of flying again was the one thing he enjoyed about being Satan’s bitch, but was immediately reminded of why he resented it again.  
“Don’t just throw the papers on the ground, there’s a filing system.” The angel growled as Lustiel wrecked another draw.  
“My filing system is ‘if it’s not important, it’s on the floor’.” Lucifer scanned more documents and chucked them on the ground too.  
“And is it really necessary to destroy the draws like that?” Castiel sighed in frustration as Lucifer pointedly made them chuck a draw across the room.  
“I’m giving your boyfriend a DIY project, you should be grateful. Don’t tell me builder Dean isn’t one of your depraved fantasies.” The archangel wrinkled his nose and another sheaf of paper hit the floor. Castiel didn’t know whether to deny or admit to that one. True, he did find the way humans fashioned things very interesting, but why it would be a fantasy better than the several he already had, he wasn’t sure.  
“Can we at least put my coat back on?”  
“You are going be a good, quiet little angel now.” Lucifer didn’t even look behind him, but waved a hand in Castiel’s vague direction. The angel found himself hanging upside-down in an iron maiden set on a slow rotation cycle with that BDSM ball gag in his mouth again. “Big ol’ Luci’s got work to do. I thought you’d be happy for once.”  
Lustiel smashed something, but all Castiel could do was scowl.

***  
Dean had enjoyed another fantastic day of concealing and not feeling. He there was no way he was going to talk to Sam about his dream because that would be all kinds of wrong. It couldn’t have been Amara who sent the dream, because why would the sister of God star him in an Angel of the Lord porno where she died? And Cas? Cas didn’t even know him and Amara had any sort of attraction yet. Plus the only sword that guy knew his way around was an angel blade. Nope, it had been some messed up, boredom-fuelled crap, Dean tried to tell himself. All the better to have a case to take his mind off it and get him dreaming about fishing or monster-gutting in purgatory or something more normal. Hell, he almost wished he had more angst to crush it with, because the damn sight of Cas biting and licking his way down Dean’s abs with a sinful hunger kept popping back into his head when he least wanted it there. Like the entire car-ride back to the bunker. Hell Dean, it was just a dream! It’s not like life was ever going to be that easy or that he would ever…no, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t think about Cas like that. And he could never be on the frickin bottom, hell no! Dean didn’t realize his eyes flicked left and right in a decidedly shifty expression as he thought that. No, he might flirt with the idea of seducing a guy here and there (even think about Dr Sexy MD a little too much at night), and he could accept that yes…as far as looks went, Cas hadn’t drawn a short straw with Jimmy Novak. Dean swallowed as he remembered those shameful, drunk times, where he’d been too smashed to even see properly. The ones where, in an impulsive, sex-deprived stupor, he’d had all but jacked himself off against his pillows and mattress with the image of Cas in his head, because out of all the porn he saw and the women he screwed, that got drunk-him off the best. No. No. Dean screwed his eyes just for a second and shook the memories away. A coil of fear sank through his belly. No, those were weird, stupid, drunk situations and when it really came down to it, there was no way he’d really go all the way. That uncomfortable twinge of self-reflection on his own insecurity shot through his belly, but Dean brought the mental stomping boots and pushed it back down.

_Crash!_

What the…? There was somebody – or something – else in the bunker? Dean snapped out his gun and headed toward the noise. A door had been left ajar; whatever it was, it was rooting about in there. The hunter raised his gun and slammed his foot into the door, ready to shoot whatever moved on sight. But instead of an intruder or something big and hairy with claws and teeth, the stout form of the angel of the year stood surrounded by mess. Dean almost didn’t recognize him from the back without the trenchcoat, and the hunter forced himself not to think about that goddamn dream where that goddamn angelic ass had felt like the ass of all asses.

“Ooh look, the hubby’s home.” Lucifer smiled something wicked and let Castiel out of the rotating iron maiden. “It’s almost pitiful the way all your little emotions jump when he’s around. I honestly have to say I am quite disgusted, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, hey little Cas.”  
Satan did a brief surf of the lesser angel’s memories to pick up on his usual conversation pattern with Dean. “Oh, I know exactly how to act.”  
The archangel shot him a wink as Castiel stumbled over the vast amount of excuses why Lucifer shouldn’t do what he was thinking of doing.  
“Hey!” Dean’s bark cut through their little interaction. “Cas…? What’re you doing man?”  
To Castiel’s utter relief Lustiel didn’t turn and blow Dean a kiss.  
“Do you really think I’m _that_ tacky? Honestly Castiel, you think so little of me.” Lucifer huffed as the other angel glared.  
“Right, yeah.” Meanwhile Dean covered his misbehaving thoughts with the closest to anger he could muster up with Cas right now; irritation. “We don’t hear from you for days, you show up and start wrecking the joint?”  
“Hello Dean.” The short little angel grated, and Dean couldn’t help but forgive him. Somehow that simple ‘hello Dean’ always made him a little more relaxed, even when it first scared the crap out of him when Cas popped up out of nowhere. It made him relaxed because Cas was a _friend_ and they had so few of those. Because they’d been through a lot together. Nothing lovey-dovey or chick flick about it.  
“I’m sorry.” Castiel scowled as Lustiel all but pouted. Thank goodness they weren’t facing Dean yet.  
“Dean will know it’s not me if you continue like that.”  
“Y’know, I’m gonna let that slide because you’re new at the whole roommate thing.” Lucifer shot him what was meant to be a tolerant look, but came off as condescending. “Now sit back and watch the inventor of seduction and sin at work.”  
Castiel suddenly found himself strapped into a cushy theatre chair with a soda in the cup holder and a bucket of popcorn labelled ‘Lucicorn’ nestled in his lap. Before he could help himself, he’d shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth. So Castiel resigned himself to embarrassment and compulsory popcorn eating while Lustiel turned to face Dean.  
“Ok? W-w-what are you doing?” Dean looked so confused, irritated and glad all at the same time, and a warmth spread through Castiel’s chest. It was sad that it only took Dean being glad to see him to make him react this way. It was pathetic because it was not possible that Dean felt the same way. Lucifer made a little gag noise, so the warmth obviously wasn’t a side-effect of the Lucicorn.  
“I’m looking for a spell, something to draw Amara out, but there’s…there’s nothing.” Cas’s shoulders sagged, and he looked so dejected that Dean almost wanted to stride over there and hug the little guy. To, y’know comfort him like a good friend. Those bright blue eyes flicked up to meet his with what Dean was certain was meant to be a silent request for help, but came off as coquettish and somehow extremely alluring. Blood throbbed into all the wrong places and the darn suit seemed way too warm for comfort. Cas hadn’t looked at him like that in too long, and - No, no, no. Goddamn, after this he was going to take a frickin cold shower and watch a ton of porn with _women_ in it. Oblivious to Dean’s pants dilemma, Cas continued.  
“I had her. She was in my sights, she was hurt. I should have ended it.”  
Dean just noticed that Cas’ sleeves were rolled up. It was a good look, and he would have told the dorky angel if he hadn’t been so curious as to what Cas had just said. The image of Castiel thrusting – uhh, maybe bad choice of words there – stabbing Amara through the chest with an angel blade and eyes full of fire returned.  
“Wait, what? How?” Dean walked through the goddamn mess to his _friend_. Even the image of Cas being such a messy little cowboy was kind of adorable, and the strength of the glow of affection that washed through him took Dean by utter surprise.  
“Well I don’t know but there has to be something.” Cas paced forward to meet him, so close that Dean could taste his clean, thunderstorm scent. Hell, there was only about a foot between them. Before he could remind Cas that personal space was still a thing, the angel carried on. “How many more chances are we gonna get?”  
In the weird place that was Lustiel’s mind, Castiel performed the most angry soda-slurping in history while Lucifer gestured in triumph to the distracted way Dean’s eyes flicked down to Lustiel’s lips and back up again.  
“Can we get that in _slow motion_ please?” Lucifer sniggered as Castiel tried to say ‘no’ around a straw. Sure enough, a movie screen appeared and I Will Always Love You began to play as those hazel green eyes matched every step in the dance of desire. “Aw, that blush is almost cute trenchcoat boy.”  
“Bite me.” Castiel glared because however he was existing right now, he definitely had the equivalent of an undeniable blush.  
“Have it your way.” Lucifer flicked a finger and a piranha flew out of the soda cup and latched onto the other angel’s face.

Dean, on the other hand, was totally unaware of Castiel’s sudden piranha problems.  
“I know. Saying you’re going to kill her is one thing. But actually doing it is totally different.” He looked down; those blue eyes were so…he didn’t know how to describe it to himself, but Cas’ lips too were doing something to him that made him feel as though that dream hadn’t just been a coincidence. No. C’mon Dean, get a grip!  
The angel suddenly narrowed his eyes and tilted a jaw that Dean really didn’t want to think about upwards. “What do you mean?”  
Unbeknown to Dean, the real Castiel now had a gag on his face along with a piranha.  
“I’ve had two shots at Amara. I struck out both times.” Dean braced himself and brought his gaze up from the mess on the floor to meet those eyes. If Cas saw him acting weird, the angel would probably fuss over him, or even worse read his mind.  
“Here we go, here we go.” Lucifer crouched beside Castiel’s theatre chair and pointed at the green eyes that Castiel had often wanted to drink in forever. “Looks like we can play the eye contact game while Dean-o tells us his secrets. All we need is some nail polish and The Notebook, and we could call this a sleepover.”  
Castiel just yanked the carnivorous fish off his face in reply as the slow-mo screen replayed the almost nervous way the hunter had looked up from the floor. The angel couldn’t even bring himself to look at Lucifer’s reaction to the way he seemed to be full of a desperate heat on the inside just from what Dean was doing with his eyes.  
Dean, however, remained blissfully unaware of his actions being replayed through Satan-cam .  
“What are you talking about.” Cas stepped forward, stare unbroken as usual and Dean’s breath hitched. For some reason the random fact that long eye contact either meant fighting or getting it on pushed to the fore of Dean’s mind. The little detail that Cas was literally centimetres from him didn’t help either. The angel could have leaned forward a bit and their chests would be touching. Dean really didn’t want Cas to feel the raging and _totally random_ boner he was sporting right now, but Cas didn’t do the touching thing much, so unless the angel hugged him for no good reason, his secret boner would stay secret. Besides… Dean kind of didn’t mind being able to scent the sky on this guy’s hair, and Cas hadn’t done the space-invasion thing for a while. Dean booted the thought out of his brain that he was allowing it because he missed it.  
“I don’t even know where to start.” He looked everywhere but Cas, because telling him might mean telling him about this…infectious love. Part of Dean didn’t want to tell Cas about it. Part of him didn’t even want to remember the helpless, unwanted desire that ensnared his body.  
“Dean. Tell me everything.”  
Dean rattled off the story as Cas continued to drop papers on the floor. He could trust this angel with his life and all his secrets (well not, uh, all) because Cas might be able to help. It would be no use telling Sam just to make him feel helpless.  
“The two of you are connected somehow by the mark.” Lustiel stated as Lucifer fixed his attention on Dean’s story. Castiel had to admit that Satan was actually intent on solving their problem.  
“Ah, no it’s, uh…it’s more than that.” Dean looked up and down, then swallowed, and the floor seemed to be more interesting to him than Lustiel. It was even more obvious in slow motion that the hunter seemed incredibly guilty. No, it couldn’t be that Dean…Dean found God’s sister attractive. A ball of jealousy curdled inside Castiel before he could stop it, and Lucifer raised an eyebrow in his direction.  
“Let’s see if you’ve got competition, big boy. Dean sure does get around, doesn’t he?” Lucifer shot his gagged angel companion a mock pout of sorrow. “Everywhere but poor little pining Castiel it seems.”  
Castiel hated that the flare of anger, guilt and the now ferocious jealousy confirmed how he felt about that statement. Lucifer really did live up to his reputation.  
“Aw, thank you trenchcoat boy. I’m touched, really I am.” Satan patted his arm. “Now let’s get back to the show, it’s just getting interesting!”  
“Attraction?” Cas cocked his head and Dean felt like those narrowed eyes could sense his guilt and self hatred as the angel hit the nail on the head. “Dean.”  
That tone, that disappointed tone, like he’d cheated on Cas or something, sent another rock of guilt straight down to his gut. No. No, he didn’t have to feel guilty about how _Cas_ felt about it! What the hell Dean? No, he was feeling guilty because it was the frickin Darkness he was somehow being made to love.  
“I know. I know, ok. Whatever it is – attraction, connection…” Dean tried to send his apology through his eyes as Cas got up in his personal space again. The strange urge to bury his face in the angel’s neck and hide from all these damn feelings took him by total surprise. “I tell you man, whatever it is, it scares me. I don’t know that I can stop it. I don’t know that I can resist it.”  
“How are you feeling so many things at once?” Lucifer shot Castiel a look of pity, the legitimacy of which was dubious. “Oh I know. It’s love isn’t it? Dear little Castiel is head over heels in lurve.”  
‘It’s Almost Like Being In Love’ began to play in their space of existence, and the archangel began to conduct it with his fingers. Satan really needed a more modern taste in music, the lesser angel thought. That warm feeling bubbled hotter within him as Dean admitted his fear with an openness that the hunter only displayed once in a blue moon. Castiel craved to comfort Dean, tell him everything would be ok somehow, even show him through physical touch that –  
“I’m going to stop you right there.” Lucifer gagged and gave himself a shake. “Ew, ew, ew. But I wonder what Dean would do if we did a bit of the touchy feely.”  
Castiel tried to protest through his thought and his gag, but the Devil just smiled, tutted and shook his head. “Come on Sass-Cas, this _is_ what you want isn’t it?”  
“Hey, it scares me too.” Lustiel reached out and placed a hand on Dean’s chest, over his heart. The hunter froze as their eyes met.  
“Lucifer, stop it now!” Somehow Castiel had managed to yank the gag off, his being doing the exact equivalent of flushing furiously.  
“Shhh, can you hear that?” Lucifer held up a finger, and Castiel found he could neither move nor speak. A quick-paced thu-dump, thu-dump echoed through their space. “My my, Deanbean’s heart is racing! Looks like the father of sin wins another round, huh Castiel?”  
Meanwhile, Dean was having a slight crisis or a heart attack, he wasn’t sure which. As soon as Cas’s hand came into contact with him, adrenaline slammed into his veins with the force of a demon on steroids while the hardness in his pants was just getting harder. Cas’s face was so close to his, and he wanted to look away from those captivating, borderline seductive blue eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Dean was trapped between things he would never admit he wanted and wanting to admit to the things he never wanted to admit to, so he didn’t dare move or talk in case something happened that he wasn't mentally prepared for. Luck be praised, Cas didn’t pause.  
“But we will find out what this is, I promise. In the end, it may help draw her out; this could be a good thing. I will do everything in my power to stop her getting to you, Dean.” The possessive edge on the angel’s voice threw that goddamn dream right to the front of his mind, and it made Dean’s breath hitch. Little did he know that was on slow-mo Satan-cam too.  
“Listen, you…you haven’t been, I don’t know, sending dream messages or whatever, have you?” He regretted the question as soon as he said it, because that jawline (which had always been a weakness) tilted up towards him like an offering.  
“No, Dean. Why would I when I can just visit you? Did you have a dream?” Cas grated in confusion.  
“Do I want to know, that is the question.” Lucifer used the prolonged stare between Lustiel and Dean to read the hunter’s mind. Castiel was resigned to watching a slight flush creep onto Dean’s cheeks in slow motion, as Satan didn’t care to share the information with him. He tried to read the archangel’s face, but Lucifer’s expressions shared just as much information as Castiel’s usually did. Dean called it a ‘poker face’ and then had sat the angel down to thrash him at the aforementioned game.  
“No, no, Sam, uh, mentioned something. Don’t worry about it.” Dean brushed the hair at the back of his neck that Castiel so often had wanted to touch.  
“Alright.” Lustiel replied, and the pair of them stood almost nose to nose in silence.  
“You know, we could kiss him.” Lucifer offered with a shrug.  
“No. Please brother, stop this.” Castiel tried his most burning glare on the Devil. If Lucifer did this, he would never be able to face Dean again if they all survived.  
“I’d be doing you a mercy, trenchcoat boy, you’re so repressed.” Lucifer cocked an eyebrow at his kin. “You know, you really have to work on your expressions. Even _I’m_ not sure whether you’re angry or horny.”  
“Lucifer.” Castiel growled, but both Dean and Castiel breathed again when Dean’s phone went off. The older Winchester whipped that phone out faster than a blink, and took a step back.  
“Sam.” Dean all but panted into the phone. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. The hunter hoped to high Heaven or somewhere more reasonable that Sam wanted his ass back at the old folk’s home pronto. Dean had to leave before he did something Cas would probably smite him for and he’d have to kick his own ass over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having way too much fun with Castiel and Lucifer's weird little interactions, hence why the chapter is so long :P Someone help Dean before he explodes and not in the good way. Lots of POV changes, so sorry if it gets confusing! Generally Dean always calls Castiel 'Cas', and Castiel never calls himself Cas - that might make it easier. Also Helll, The Vessel was so good!! Can't wait to have a go at that! :D. Thanks for the comments and kudos! I know the concept is kinda silly, but I'm enjoying myself :P Let me know if you're enjoying it too! c:


	4. Into The Mystic - Part 3 (Bobby Would Have Solved Everything)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean's angst nearly creates a National Holiday and even Sam doesn't have long enough arms to pull him out of the closet.

It took almost the entire drive back to the Oak Park Retirement Home for the full blown frat party rave in Dean’s pants to peter off into more of a tea party. It hadn’t helped that Cas had decided to go all hands-on with him again after Sam ended the call. Seriously, the guy loses the trenchcoat and suddenly gets octopus hands? Dean tried not to focus on how he was thinking about Cas losing the trenchcoat (in slow motion for some reason), or that he was overreacting to the angel’s touch, especially in certain areas.  
“Focus, Dean. You got a case.” He growled to himself and mentally crushed his feelings before Sam could see his face.

While they were playing the waiting game, Dean found himself watching the sunset and talking about his feelings – something utterly chick flick, but somehow it wasn’t that bad with Mildred.  
“You wanna know the secret to living a long and happy life?” The older lady seemed rather calm about the whole banshee deal, but to Dean she seemed like a pretty steady sort anyhow. Knock off a few years and she’d totally be his type. Yeah, she’d be gorgeous. Much better than anyone in a trenchcoat, that’s for sure. That old dream of a picket fence and gables resurfaced, even though Dean knew he couldn’t find happiness there. He wanted to know more than anything how to be happy again.  
“Actually, yes I do.” Dean looked over at the older woman, the possibilities of what she might say on shuffle in his head.  
“Follow your heart. You do that, all the rest just figures itself out.” Mildred’s smile showed that she was as expert on this as he was at hunting. But hell, that was not the answer Dean was hoping for, because the image of bright blue eyes and a glad, angelic smile popped into his head before he could stop it.  
“Hmph.” Dean couldn’t look her in the eye, and tried to think of a woman – any woman – that could replace that darn image. The figure of Amara rose from somewhere else, and Dean didn’t know which was easier to accept. One part of him fought his denial of Cas, and the war inside him resulted in an ache he’d felt so many times over the years. No. Castiel was an angel of freakin God. An _angel_. And a male. It’s not that he thought gay relationships were bad or anything, but something deep down, some leftover expectation of him from his dad or himself or, or _something_ just couldn’t let allow him to go through with the option of Cas. Plus…Dean had never believed he was worthy of Cas’s – an angel’s – attention, never mind his love, if that was even possible.  
“ I did that.” Mildred ploughed through the fully fledged angst-festival (verging on becoming an Dean Angst National Holiday) and looked back at the sunset. “I followed my heart. Travelled the world…made people smile…forget about their problems for a while and then my heart said ‘well, you’re done.’ I had my fill and I retired. And I love it.”  
Mildred patted him on the thigh to accentuate every word. Back at the Angst of the Year Competition, a wall inside Dean cracked. He wished with all his heart that he could be as honest with himself as Mildred was to herself. But he’d learned to school his face long ago to stop anyone save maybe Sam and Cas seeing his internal dilemmas. “Hey, you know this place weren’t what I expected.”  
“Oh, life here is great. I’d just like to enjoy it a little more.” Mildred flashed him a winning smile – definitely made of strong stuff this one.  
“And you will. I promise.” Even if he couldn’t be happy, Dean sure as hell wasn’t gonna let this fine lady get hurt. The hunter realized that his award winning angst had made one little detail go unnoticed. “Your hand is…still on my knee.”  
Mildred gave his thigh a cheeky little squeeze. “I could move it up.”  
“Ookay.” Well at least his boner problems weren’t going to come back anytime soon. Sure Mildred was great, but the only reason he had latched onto her was to prove to himself that yes, he definitely found women attractive. Definitely, definitely, definitely, he lied as the wall inside him cracked a little more. “I’m gonna – “  
And then the screaming started.  
“Do you hear that?” It was only a gentle chord clash at the back of his mind, but the fact that he could hear it, that it had chosen _him…_  
“I don’t hear anyth..thing, do you?” Mildred’s eye widened.  
“Sam!” Dean called. Well at least it wasn’t Mildred who was being attacked. The screech upped the volume and tore through him as he buckled to the floor. All the hunter could hear was that damn screaming as the crack in his walls seared within him. It burned and burned, it ate away at Dean’s heart. He didn’t want to feel this pain anymore, this denial, this war of the love he wanted but could never accept he wanted and the love he was forced to have. Dean didn’t realize that he was literally trying to beat it out of his brain. The next thing he remembered was Mildred’s touch and his brother’s worry.

“It wouldn’t have worked out between us anyway.” Mildred walked out with them into the sunshine. They were both glad to see another day. Dean had long since stowed his problems and tried to duct tape that crack back up.  
“Why not?” Dean knew he was humouring her, but hey, it was a fun distraction that he was certain they both didn’t mind.  
Mildred gave a contented sigh, a great big smile on her face. “Darlin’, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years on the road is when somebody’s pining for somebody else.”  
Dean took that one on the nose and booted Cas and Amara out of his brain. But apparently he hadn’t booted them quite far enough.  
“Oh don’t try and hide it now.” The older woman gave a knowing smile. “Follow your heart, remember?”  
Dean couldn’t help raising his eyebrows at that one. One part of his heart led to getting down dirty with an evil bitch he hated and another part led to professing his desire for a servant of God wearing a man-suit. He couldn’t allow himself to go either way.  
“I don’t know who the lucky lady is, but I’m damn sure jealous.” Mildred led him down towards where Sam and Eileen waited. Dean gave a very guilty gasp-laugh as he denied to himself that that statement might need a gender adjustment.

Sam couldn’t help but notice how, instead of talking about the banshee or the old folk’s home or even Golden Girls, Dean spent the half of the car ride back to the bunker not filled with maxed-volume music talking about Cas. Sometimes the younger Winchester just wanted to grab his brother and shake him while screaming ‘JUST MARRY THE DAMN ANGEL, OK DEAN? HE LIKES YOU, YOU LIKE HIM, JUST BANG ALREADY!’  
“It’s not like Cas to make such a mess…is it?” Dean’s eyebrows creased in worry, maybe because, oh, his treasured knowledge of the angel had turned out not to be complete. God, what would it take to get them together? Maybe it _would_ take God. Sam couldn’t do it. He didn’t think he’d have the self-control for that conversation. He’d just end up shaking and yelling his brother to get off the coattails of societal norms that Dean seemed to use as a crutch and _date the fucking angel._ It was obvious. It was so obvious except to those two. Meg had known, Crowley knew and every angel in high heaven dead or alive knew. Sam could feel so much sexual tension in Dean’s description of the pair’s little meeting today that Sam was getting second-hand horniness. The hunter just rested his forehead on the Impala’s window as Dean pulled up beside the bunker, still on about how often Cas took off his trenchcoat. _Please God, what did I do to deserve this?_ Sam let all his self-pity and pity for his brother whoosh out in a huge sigh, but Dean was already at the bunker door.  
“I’m going to see if Cas is still here, ok?” Did Dean even know he was gushing like a 14 yr old with a crush? No. No he didn’t. And Cas never seemed to know that whenever he was in a room with Dean, he stuck to the hunter like glue. Seriously, Sam had been watching it for years now. If Cas could perch on Dean’s shoulder 24/7, Sam betted that he would. As soon as Dean vanished inside, the younger Winchester drooped onto the Impala with a thud muted by glorious hair.  
“Please God, I know The Darkness is a big thing right now, but I might just go insane if this carries on any longer.” Sam sighed, picked himself up and strode into the bunker. A cold beer would help nicely with the Dean-induced headache, but the Lord Almighty decided to only give him ten minutes of peace on his pad before his older, completely bisexual or pansexual brother strode in. Sam tossed a beer behind him and hoped it might knock some sense into the goddamn disaster he called Dean. Alas, the older Winchester caught it.  
“Cas gone?” Sam looked up. Of course he was. If he’d still been here, the angel would be exactly three centimetres behind Dean. Sam only prayed that this would happen in the near future, but with fewer clothes.  
“Yeah, I guess so.” Dean’s eyebrows creased down in disappointment. How could this guy not realize how he acted? What the heck. And since Charlie died, Sam had no outlet for this. Left alone with a closeted brother and an oblivious angel. There were worse fates, so Sam just lived in hope that the idiots would somehow sort themselves out. Or when this all blew over, he’d make an intervention. They needed it.  
“What was he doing here anyway again?” Sam had zoned out in the car. Dean’s voice was always kinda choked yet dreamy when he talked about Cas (sometimes he varied it with a pining tone or an eager expression, depending), and Sam sort of just nodded and smiled to stop all the bottled-up exasperation from leaking.  
“Dude, I told you!” Dean glared in offence. Well sorry if I don’t listen to you describe every hair on Castiel’s holy head, Sam sighed internally as he gave an apologetic shrug. “He was looking for lore on the Darkness.”  
Dean frowned and popped the beer open. “Something a little off about him too.”  
Yes, Dean, you’ve said that a hundred times. Sam rolled his eyes internally. Just because Cas takes a day off from the trenchcoat doesn’t mean he’s been possessed.  
“Something always seems a little off about Cas.” Sam didn’t know. Sam hadn’t studied every single one of Cas’s expressions and mannerisms to the point where they became a reference of comfort. Even Lucifer couldn’t fool Dean entirely. “Ahh, y’know being so close to Lucifer probably weren’t easy for him either. We’ll just keep an eye on him.”  
Dean’s eyebrows creased in worry and he wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. What an idjit, Bobby would’ve said. In fact Bobby would have probably grabbed Castiel by his holy trenchcoat lapels and Dean by the scruff of the neck, hauled them both off to a church and married them by now. Sam gave a little smile at the mental image and swooped in on the silence to direct the conversation away from Cas. Little did Sam know that Dean’s heart was about to be thrown out of the frying pan, into the fire and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really trying to catch up with the series! c: This is a bit of a filler, but Sam is a lot of fun to write too, so he'll be making more appearances. I'm also rewatching Spn from Series 1 with a friend, so sorry if any old references slip in! :P  
> I made some Castiel art, so if you're interested, check it our [ here. ](http://www.redbubble.com/people/dur-baneth/works/20997347-weeping-angel-castiel) Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments! Please feel free to tell me what you think :)


	5. Love Hurts - Part 1 (Castiel Is Screwed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucifer took over my writing and made this much more evil than it should have been. Everything, especially love, hurts and nothing is ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and edited the bejesus out of Chapter 2, so for those who read it before this chapter came out, parts are probably new. Feel free to go back and read that piece of sin before you move on to this utter piece of sin.

“Valentine’s Day.” Lucifer sighed. Lustiel checked Neko-Atsume on his pad as they sat on the throne of Hell. “Ahhh, I really would thank St. Valentine for the amount of lust, debauchery, greed, coveting and sin that his little holiday inspires.”  
“No, no, do not refill the bowl. The rotund animated cat named Tubbs will leave many more fish if he leaves of his own volition.” Castiel pointed out and Lucifer gave a small ‘hm’ of approval. “I have been watching his actions carefully.”  
“You really need a day job Castiel.” Lucifer sighed as Lustiel threw a bone into Crowley’s dog box so hard that something gave a wet crunch and the demon yelled against his gag.  
“I…did get one when I was human.” That memory hurt to think about. When he’d been so weak, helpless and dragged down, he’d looked to Dean and Sam for help. But without any explanation, Dean had told him to leave. Yes, later he had realized that Dean was only trying to protect Sam, but at the time he had never felt so abandoned or alone – and yes, he’d still felt so giddy when Dean had come to see him, especially on that ill-fated ‘date’. The one he’d tried to distract himself with…but then in the car when Dean had said ‘I can’t let you do this’, it had brought back all his old hopes, his ache –  
“Castielllll, you’re being disgusting again.” Lucifer lilted as he bought a Lacquered Bowl with fish. “But then again…it is Valentine’s Day, and you do give me some very handy tips about this cat game.”  
The throne room of Hell blinked out of existence, and instead the angel found himself in two places; one part of him was looking up into Dean’s eyes, breathless like only a human could be, and full of hope while they sat in the Impala. The other part of him was watching them, as was Lucifer.  
“Aw, you are _so_ cute together.” Whether the archangel was mocking him or pretending to be enthused for another end Castiel wasn’t sure. “I can’t _wait_ to see what happens!”  
A sick lump formed in the lesser angel’s gut. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be fun for him. And then he was looking at Dean again.  
“Cas, wait.” The hunter’s eyes reflected something that could have been either yearning or sorrow. “I can’t let you do this.”  
“What?” Hope filled his head to the point where Castiel almost felt giddy. Did Dean…was Dean going to…  
“You gonna wear that? On a date?” Dean’s eyes didn’t change even though his expression did, and a stone of disappointment sank into Castiel's gut. So that’s…that’s what Dean had been worried about. Not him leaving or going to romance another.  
“This is all I have, Dean.” He grated, tone low to hide his malcontent. Humans and humans emotions were so fragile and fleeting.  
“Ok, ah…lose the vest.” The older Winchester eyed his work uniform with reproach.  
“What do you – “  
“Lose the vest, c’mon.” Dean cut over his protest. From watching himself and Dean, the angel couldn’t help but notice how Dean’s eyes followed how he shed the blue waistcoat.  
“Mmm, getting steamy, huh?” Lucifer waggled his eyebrows, and Castiel did not trust or understand where this was going.  
“Lucifer – “  
“Shhhh, it’s about to get good!” Satan waved a hand at him, and his consciousness slipped back into the memory.  
“Ahh, there we go.” Dean chucked the waistcoat onto the back seats. “Uhm, undo some buttons… why don’t you unbutton it.”  
“Ok.” Castiel followed the instructions so fast that he had half his shirt undone before Dean could stop him.  
“Now that’s – that’s far enough, Tony Monero.” Both Castiels noted how those hazel green eyes lingered on the exposed V of skin. A wash of heat flushed across his being, and breath hit the back of his throat, both in and out the car. Lucifer just gave him more suggestive eyebrows, which only added to the other angel’s melting pot of confusion, embarrassment and, to his dismay, steadily growing desire. Surely the archangel wouldn’t…  
Castiel’s eyes slid towards Lucifer in horror. “No, please…”  
“Uhh, actually Cas…” Dean’s voice hitched and Castiel couldn’t take his eyes off him. Parts of his body reacted in lust towards the way Dean’s eyes fluttered down to the brown leather seat. “Uh, I..”  
“Yes Dean?” Castiel leaned closer to the other human, and a very distracting ‘thud’ filled his ears. It took him a second to realize this was a heartbeat. His fingers, head and stomach pulsed with the sound.  
“No, no, uhh, don’t worry, I – “  
“You are troubled, Dean. Tell me.” It was so difficult to function with all these chemicals and fluids sending so many messages around his body. As an angel, it was so simple; if you wished to fight, you fought. If you wished to mate, you asked outright like Hannah had done. Or like Balthazar and Gabriel, you took what you wanted. There were brief stutters, questions… But as a human? Nerves corrupted his will to speak and the body seemed in conflict with the mind so often.  
“And now you’re a strange little blend of both, aren’t you Castiel?” The Devil whispered in his ear. “No wonder other angels don’t like you.”  
“Lucif – “  
“I don’t want you to go!” Dean rasped out, and even though the hunter didn’t look up, one hand grasped the material on the arm of Castiel’s shirt. “I never wanted you to leave the bunker, I’m so sorry! I can’t explain to you why I couldn’t let you stay but I…I…after everything you’ve done…I miss you. I think about you. I…”  
“Dean.” The warmth and fire inside Castiel blossomed and fused together. This mortal, this human was irresistible, and even though part of him knew that these words telling him everything he wanted to hear were actually Lucifer altering his memories…just for a few minutes he wanted to believe this lie and give in to the flame inside him. The angel-turned-human cupped a hand beneath Dean’s jaw and lifted the hunter’s face towards him so those beautiful eyes had to meet his. “Thank you. And I’m sure you have a reason for everything you do.”  
Dean mumbled something, and his eyes dropped again, although he leaned into Castiel’s hand.  
“Dean?”  
“I can’t do it, so you have to.” The older Winchester’s hand slid over the one that held his jaw, voice still a mutter. “…s me.”  
“What?” Castiel went on a strange human instinct and stroked the perfectly sculpted (though he did say himself) cheek with his thumb. Dean’s eyes flicked up to his, wrought with determination and the words came out choked.  
“Kiss me. I can’t, I can’t, I want to but…”  
A sudden jolt of pleasure at the words coiled through Castiel’s stomach and his already hard erection strained further. The human-angel drew their faces together until he could almost feel the warmth of Dean’s lips. He couldn’t help his more frivolous human eyes from flitting from the eyes he loved so much to the lips that seemed too soft and full to be those of a hunter. Castiel’s head spun as Dean gave a little inadvertent groan of desire. Then, as if his body acted before his mind could stop it, their lips met, and Castiel kissed and licked those lips like a man thirsty for water. He slammed Dean back against the driver’s side door, a fire, a frenzy in his veins like nothing he had ever felt before. The other man made a high sound as his back hit the Impala; Dean had always enjoyed being pinned against things - that much Castiel had figured. But that noise and the moan Dean elicited from him with his tongue as they kissed built a pulsing burn behind the angel’s eyes that roared through Castiel’s body like a rampant forest fire that consumes everything in its path. He pushed Dean lower than him and the desire for wings that could embrace, tease and intimidate his lover into submission itched at the back of his already-overwhelmed mind.  
“Enjoying yourself?” Lucifer raised his eyebrows in enormous judgement as Castiel gasped as he watched himself and Dean wrestle into the back of the car.  
“Stop…this. Lucifer…why – ah!” Castiel gave a cry of pleasure, and could only glare through his disgrace at the blonde archangel as he shuddered to his knees. Even if he could have stopped Lucifer, the lesser being didn’t know whether he would have; this was what he yearned for, his deepest, darkest, most impossible and shameful desire; to _have_ Dean Winchester, all of him, his mind and his body, and Lucifer was bringing his fantasies to life for some reason. But before he could make up his mind, Castiel found his eyes roving over the bare expanse of Dean’s chest beneath him. The hunter’s deft fingers had already found the buttons of Castiel’s own half-undone shirt, and the sound of their quick breaths filled the enclosed space. The incessant thump of his heart fought against the screaming joy of being accepted by the one he would do anything for, which in turn fought against the carnal lust to mate. How humans lived with this ferocious, all-consuming passion, Castiel had no idea. It both hurt and gave pleasure, but both of these were overwhelmed by simple, raw need. Dean’s lips sucked down his jawline as the windows of the Impala misted. The heat, the sensation of his skin sliding against Dean’s, the achingly familiar scent of his hunter all about them had Castiel drunk and he forgot about any attempt to control himself. The human angel fell into the pleasure and ground against the hardness in Dean’s jeans. The hunter threw his head back and his hand muffled the noise the friction elicited. Dean's hips stuttered against Castiel’s and the sensation of the other man's rock-hard erection against his own burst up his spine. Castiel pushed the hunter back down and all but attacked Dean’s neck, shoulders and chest as the hunter gasped against his own hand, too flushed and breathless to form words. The angel-human would have let his mouth explore all of Dean’s flawless body if the space hadn’t been so cramped. Castiel’s ears rang with the noises of Dean trying to stop himself being so responsive and it sent a coil of desire to his stomach.  
“Dean.” Castiel rested his back against the front seats behind him, the feast of Dean flushed with lazy eyes laid out before him. Before he could undo his belt, Dean lurched up and flicked his tongue and gentle teeth over the erect ridge of Castiel’s nipple. The angel-human gasped with a shudder, closed his eyes and tangled his fingers in that short, soft hair.  
“Dean!” Castiel didn’t have enough experience to know how long he would last against that assault, so he put a hand on Dean’s chest and slammed the hunter back onto the brown leather seats as the angel coaxed his own belt undone with the other. Castiel met the green eyes he’d fallen in love with and his body all but shook with heat and need. “Strip.”  
True, the other man only had jeans, but the command seemed to make Dean even more happy – he made a small, high noise of desire before he could stop himself and shed his jeans at a speed that Castiel knew wasn’t possible without years of practise. Then the hunter’s hand scrabbled underneath one of the seats of the Impala as Castiel found his mouth trying to memorize the clean-cut V that defined his lover’s hipbones. He scraped his teeth along the sensitive area and Dean jolted, his splayed legs quivering.  
“Cas, Cas, here.” Dean gasped, the trembling of his body coming through in his voice. The hunter offered Castiel a tube, but what it was for he had no idea. Dean gave a grunt of frustration when he seemed to recognize the confusion on the other man’s face. Then a rough hand clenched in Castiel’s hair as the hunter kissed him with a fever that the angel-human returned. He wanted Dean’s lips, his tongue, his heat forever, but the way Dean moaned and whimpered through this kiss made Castiel’s cock pulse and leak pre-come. The white-hot flames of need shattered his remaining restraints as Dean’s nails dug into the his shoulder and Castiel looked down; possession, that’s what he wanted right now. To mate with Dean, to make him his that so that no-one could take him away. He was greeted by the sight of Dean riding his own fingers and the human quaked and bit Castiel’s ear from pleasure of it.  
“Gentle, unh, gentle at first Cas, go slow.” Dean grunted as he removed his hand, eyes half closed, a vision of indulgence.  
“I will always treat you with the utmost care, Dean.” Castiel breathed and pressed himself against that opening. This was much better than anything he’d experienced before. Compared, April had given him a somewhat boring time.  
They moved slow at first; Castiel did not wish to hurt Dean in any way, but it took every ounce of control to stop himself ramming into that delicious, tight heat. A moan escaped from his lips and Dean trembled and bit his hand to stop himself from groaning too as he stroked himself beneath Castiel. Pleasure built, layer upon layer; intense shocks of ecstasy ran from the sensitive tip of his cock and throbbed down the encircled shaft, each thrust better than the last. His vision blurred with the heat in the confines of the car, and sweat slicked both their bodies. The angel had never felt anything so dirty or desperate in his billions of years. He never wanted it to end, but at the same time he was ravenous, greedy to the point of sin for orgasm. Castiel's gasped breath broke deeper and with every push, his chest vibrated with noises he didn't even think humans were capable of; all of a sudden the need to hear Dean's cries mingled with his coiled through his body.  
“Let me hear you.” Castiel snarled through their rhythm, and every inch of his skin seemed to be shaking.  
“No…” Dean moaned, and his eyes flew back as Castiel gave another slow roll of his hips. “I – “  
Desire crashed over his mind as Dean covered his mouth again to stop a cry, and Castiel’s hips thrust a little harder than he expected.  
“Yes!” Dean’s hoarse yell filled the small space, and the offending hand clawed at the leather door. “Again Cas, don’t stop!”  
The plea crashed a wave of heat over Castiel’s body, and he yanked the hunter’s left leg up higher while he braced the other arm on the back seat of the Impala. Dean’s hands clenched around his back and shoulders as he gave another more vigorous thrust again and again and again, driving the hunter against the leather with rhythmic thuds. The human angel couldn't breathe properly and his head spun with the heat and the heady scent of sweat and arousal, with the sight of Dean writhing beneath him. The hunter was gone to the pleasure; his hips rammed themselves harder with a desperate, stuttered speed onto Castiel’s cock, his eyes barely stayed open and scandalous moans clawed out of his throat. Castiel wanted release, he needed release or it felt as though he would burst from the fever within him.  
“Dean, look at me!” He managed out and pinned Dean back hard against the corner between the seats and the door. It seemed Dean was beyond words, but he met Castiel’s eyes, teeth bared as unrestrained grunts and cries left him. A jolt sparked up Castiel’s shaft, but it was those eyes, those languid, perfect green eyes that were going to send him over the edge.  
“Cas – Cas!” Dean let himself go at last with a broken cry. That bronzed body jerked and shook around Castiel and fingers clawed at angel-human’s back and scalp as a white, sticky mess spurted up Dean's curled stomach and chest. Those eyes glazed and fluttered, but didn’t break contact. That was all Castiel could take. Heat rushed up his cock as Dean spasmed around him, and a kind of unrestrained bliss the human angel had never known burst behind his eyes as Castiel pumped his seed into the other man with three deep thrusts and three guttural growls.  
“Cas…Cas…” Dean panted. Castiel didn’t feel quite real anymore. It was as if everything was floating in heat and exhaustion, like all his energy had suddenly been sucked out. But… that need was finally sated. The angel-human made a small, high noise in reply, and looked back into the eyes that had sent him over the edge.  
“I love you Cas. I need you by my side.” Dean’s voice was torn, and broke deeper as he spoke. “I love you and I can’t…I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want you, nobody else.”  
“I’m yours, Dean. I have always been yours.” Castiel’s lethargic body allowed him a rare smile. Then someone began to laugh, and the angel suddenly found himself crumpled in a shuddering heap at Lucifer’s feet.  
“You are _so_ gullible, did anyone ever tell you that?” Satan delivered him a quick kick in the ribs, and his being wasn’t prepared for the pain after so much pleasure. “You made me throw up too, once or twice back there, but we’ll get to that. It’s your absolute naivety I want to point out.”  
Castiel just stared at the floor. Shame and disgust at himself for… _performing_ so well for Lucifer welled up within him, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at the archangel.  
“It’s like Sam would do anything for Dean and Dean would do anything for Sam. But with you, you’d do anything for the Winchesters, you’d do anything for Dean, but Dean wouldn’t do the same for you.” Lucifer paced around him, but the worst thing – worse than the archangel’s abhorrence and what Castiel had just done – was that the Devil was right. “Where you would throw yourself into the fires of Hell for them, while you’d whore yourself out to me for them, they wouldn’t rescue you if it compromised the other brother.”  
“I did this for the good of the world, not just for them!” Castiel struggled out. He tried to raise himself up on his arm, but Lucifer just kicked it out from under him.  
“Liaaaar.” Lucifer sang. “True, a little, itsy bitsy, teeny weeny bit was for the world. But your world is the Winchesters, your world is Dean, and you did it so he didn’t have to see Sam suffer.”  
Castiel flinched, but said nothing. What was there to say?  
“They use you, Castiel. They call when they want something.” The Devil yanked at his shoulder so that he had to look his torturer in the face. Anger and revulsion twisted Lucifer’s once-gorgeous features. “You are no better than their _dog_. You eat the scraps of affection from their hands, you feed on the way they treat you like a friend.”  
“I am their friend!” Castiel growled, and some of his energy burned back into him.  
“You’re expendable, that’s what you are, and that’s why you’re my bitch.” Lucifer kicked him so hard that he slid across the floor of their shared space. “They will never want you, and you will _never_ be family to them, let alone what other sick fantasies you have. And even if you are their friend, do you know what happens to friends of the Winchesters?”  
Castiel crawled up onto his hands and knees, but again, couldn’t look at Lucifer because he knew the answer.  
“They all end up dead, Castiel. They end up dead because if it’s a choice between saving a friend or saving each other, the Winchester boys will _always_ save each other. You know that. When you had done everything for them, and came to them in need, Dean tossed you out onto the street to keep Sam ‘safe’. ” Lucifer hissed and gripped him by the hair, so tight his eyes stung.  
“Sam is Dean’s brother, Lucifer. But then why would I expect you to understand familial love?” Castiel knew the archangel was right, and the insult was all the defence he had. Lucifer near yanked tufts of the lesser angel’s hair out as he tossed him away.  
“They will do _anything_ to keep each other alive, but Cas…you broken little angel Castiel…If you died, they would accept it and move on. In fact, oh I forgot, with the little Leviathan incident you did die and they didn’t even bat an eye.” The blonde being raised his eyebrows as the energy seemed to drain out of Castiel again.  
“I am an angel. It is my place to protect and look after them, not the other way around.” He stared hard into the blackness beneath him.  
“And apparently to mate with them and promise yourself to them.” Lucifer gave him another spiteful kick, but Castiel hardly felt it. “You lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me, so I’ll let you suck on this lemon-drop of truth. You are a used, manipulated, hated and, quite frankly, revolting individual. You are alone, Castiel, and you will die alone. Because both Sam and Dean will be prepared to accept your sacrifice. They won’t save you.”  
The Devil crouched down and whispered right beside his ear. “And Dean will _never_ love you. Happy Valentine’s Day!”  
Lucifer walked off to check Neko-Atsume with a spring in his step because in the back of this vessel somewhere he could feel his angel roommate broken and crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that happened. Uh. *Sorry*  
> Also I'm starting Uni soon, so the updates might not be as frequent D: But I'm writing The Vessel right now, so do not fear, that'll be up after Love Hurts Part 2.  
> As always, tell me what you think, and thanks for all your comments and kudos! :)


	6. Love Hurts - Part 2 (What Is Love? Baby Don't hurt Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the qareen is confused, Dean is confused and Sam is confused.

Dean gave a little wiggle of joy as he finally, for once in his life won Paper, Scissors, Rock with Sam.  
“Whatever, I’m going upstairs.” Sam looked left and right in confusion, as if he didn’t understand the complete awesomeness of the situation. C’mon, this was a moment in history! But the tall, bordering on giant moose man just bounded up the stairs like he was in a David Attenborough documentary or whatever. Dean turned about and slapped open the plastic curtain thingies, a broad smile on his face. Y’know, he’d expected Valentine’s Day and the week that followed to be a climb up the old angst-mountain. But he’d just thought ‘screw it’ (literally) for that one day, stopped mooning about both his heart problems and become Mister Right Now instead of Mister Right. He could do that. Until a heart-ripping monster popped up who showed your deepest desire before it ganked you. Dean had to say, being heroic wasn’t the only reason why he’d taken on the curse. Curiosity simmered in the hunter’s stomach, and some dark little part of him really wished the qareen would turn up. Then another part of him really wished it wouldn’t – did he really want to know what was his deepest, darkest desire? Dean shifted some suspicious-looking wood, but it seemed from the sound of footsteps that the moose had made its migration down the steps again.  
“Find anything?” Dean turned about, only to see an elegant arm shift open the plastic curtain. Amara, but not the real Sister of God. A stone sank into his gut as he gave the woman-creature a stare full of hatred. So it was Amara then.  
“I understand, Dean.” She – it – said.  
“Is that right.” This creature was a dumbass then, because all he felt right now was the urge to kill it and the thing it was pretending to be.  
“The longing in your heart. I feel it too.” The qareen stepped forward further. Dean matched its steps and headed toward the knife in the plywood that he’d spotted earlier.  
“Well, that’s touching, considering you don’t have a heart. Qareen.” This bastard was unlucky. Yeah, the real Amara would have him stuttering and burning with infectious desire in her presence. But this cardboard cutout? This gave him the opportunity to do what he’d always wanted to do; stab the bitch.  
“Who I am doesn’t matter. The real question is who are you?” The qareen’s question threw him for a moment.  
“What do you mean, who am I?”  
“You’re a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel. Except…it’s cloaked in shame.” The Amara-qareen narrowed her eyes. “Your heart is torn in two, straight down the centre, but you are ashamed of both loves. You fight them both, yet you want them both.”  
Dean swallowed. But the qareen had chosen Amara, hadn’t it? “Then why did you choose her?”  
The qareen brushed back a lock of dark hair from the swell of her bosom as she moved even closer. “Because when it comes to this…you can’t help yourself. So why fight it? Just give in.”  
But the whole temptress thing? It did nothing for him. There wasn’t even an old-person’s bingo party in Dean’s pants right now.  
“Yeah, you know what, you’re right. The real Amara does have a hold on me. But you are nothing but a cheap imitation.” Dean growled and grabbed the nearest piece of boarding to defend his heart with. Qareen-Amara’s fist punched a hole straight through it, but at least he didn’t get Indiana Jones kali ma-d. The creature snatched up the board and tossed it across the room as Dean scrambled away. He finally reached the small saw, though unless Sam had found the qareen heart upstairs, Dean was minutes away from having his heart sucker-punched outta him. He turned to stab his assailant, but Amara caught his arm. She twisted it with such strength that Dean had to drop his weapon.  
“Perhaps I chose the wrong one.” The qareen frowned as Dean rolled to the ground and hefted a badass looking board spiked with nails. Then Amara’s features began to melt. Her hair retracted and a white shirt, blue tie and tan trenchcoat replaced the dress.  
“Hello Dean.” That achingly familiar voice made Dean, who had been about to take a swing at the creature’s head, falter. The angel – heart-stealing monster – cocked his head. “It seems we have a winner.”  
“No. No, you are _not_ Cas!” Dean dropped the plank and backed away as gunshots echoed from upstairs. It couldn’t be Cas. That was impossible. But Dean couldn’t bring himself to fight back...he just couldn’t. The vision of Cas half-dead in a bloodied heap on the ground beneath him roared back into Dean’s head. “You bastard!”  
He backed up against some plywood, ready to drop or swing to the side, but those bright blue eyes held him in place.  
“I love you, Dean. And I’m sorry.” The angel grated, and despite himself, Dean couldn’t breathe. The words had him frozen in place, and even if he was about to die, at least he’d heard Cas say that. In the heat of the moment, Dean didn’t even question the ache inside him.  
“I’m sorry too.” Dean knew he was talking to the qareen, but he’d never had a chance to say it to the real angel.  
Cas drew back his fist, rammed it forward…and stopped a centimetre from Dean’s chest. The hunter still remembered when Cas had put his hand over Dean’s heart at the bunker. Why had he done that? But now was now. The little guy in the trenchcoat stepped back, expression blank as always. Then he began to shake as he lifted his head towards the ceiling. The qareen-angel cried out as a purple light blazed out of his chest, too similar to the bright blue of an angel dying for Dean’s liking. The edges of Castiel dissipated into black mist and were sucked into the vortex at his heart. Then Dean was alone. This was the fourth time he’d watched Cas die, and it never got any easier. But that hadn’t been the real Amara, and that hadn’t been the real Cas. Words rang around Dean’s head like bees trapped in his skull. ‘We have a winner.’ The thing had said as Dean had hesitated. And even though he’d never hear it in real life, Dean would always treasure the sound of the angel’s deep voice saying ‘I love you, Dean.’  
Before the hunter could make head or tail of these feelings, of this incident, Sam barrelled down the stairs like a moose on the rampage.  
“Dean?” Sam called.  
“Yeah!” Dean yelled back, and to his shame, his voice broke. No. Sam couldn’t know of this. He’d tell his brother it had been Amara, that the creature had been too strong, too fast for him. Not that he’d been pinned to the spot, weak and helpless by a pair of angelic blue eyes.

“So was it Bach or Simpson?” _Goddamn_ Sam wished he’d been there to see who the qareen had become. Yeah, yeah, it would have been a great big invasion of Dean’s personal space blah-de-blah. But he owed himself bet money of a million bucks if the qareen had been somewhat angelic.  
“Neither.” Dean’s voice wasn’t just guilty; it had taken a dive off Guilt Cliff, hit The Sea of Guilt and been swallowed by Moby Guilt, the Whale of Guilt Past. The word ‘guilt’ sounded weird in Sam’s head now because he’d said it too much.  
“Huh.” _Was it Castiel, Dean, was it a fucking little angel in a trenchcoat Dean??_ Sam’s heart leapt. Finally, maybe finally…  
“It was Amara.”  
_WHATTTT?_ Breathe Sam. Breathe. But unless Dean had learned to lie his perky little nipples off to the extent where even Sam couldn’t see through his mask, it had to be true. Maybe they had a faulty qareen. But Dean already looked half way through a shamecation, so Sam took pity on the guy.  
“Does that surprise you?” More reasons to kill the Darkness; she was messing with Dean’s true love.  
“That doesn’t surprise you?” Dean looked so offended by Sam’s nonchalance, that the younger Winchester was tempted to ask whether he’d rather it’d been Castiel.  
“Honestly?” Sam did get it though. If a deity that powerful wanted you to love them…well, what could you do?  
“Honestly? You seriously think the _Sister of God_ is my deepest, darkest desire?” Dean looked positively disgusted, and Sam had hope again that his pair of dorks would eventually get together.  
“She isn’t?” Sam pressed. Then who is Dean, c’mon.  
“No! She can’t be?” Dean looked like he was about to give Sam The Slap.  
“Why not?” The taller guy knew he was pushing it, but if it got Dean to confess, The Slap would be worth it.  
“Why? Because if she was, that means I’m…” The morose expression on his brother’s face was so sad that Sam couldn’t bring himself to press anymore.  
“It means you’re what? Complacent? Weak? Evil?” Not in love with Castiel?  
“For starters, yeah!” Dean had never been great on the whole ‘feelings’ thing, and now it looked like he had so many that he was about to explode. Sam put on his best comforting voice. He did not want Dean to explode.  
“Dean. Do you honestly think you ever had a choice in the matter? She’s the sister of _God_.” Sam was rewarded by a little hopeful look from Dean. “And for some reason she picked you, and that sucks but if you think I’m gonna blame you or judge you, I’m not.”  
“You know that I want her ass dead.” Dean had never looked like he wanted to kill something more. Maybe it was because he felt guilty over Castiel, Sam mused. If the angel found out, he’d give Dean the silent treatment, or good old Sasstiel, which made them both look like more of a married couple than ever.  
“Yes! Of course! And I know you’ve probably beaten yourself up a million times over it, but where’s that gotten us?” Sam knew the Chasm of Bottomless Angst Dean could fall into sometimes. Dean had probably fallen into it a couple of times this week, but now Sam had a chance to drag him out kicking and screaming. Silence hung in the air.  
“Just how bad is it?” Like, a ‘Castiel Stands No Chance Anymore, So Sam Will Cry’ bad or a ‘Save Me From Amara And Please Give Me Cas Back, Sam You Can Be Our Best Man’ bad?  
“Standing here right now? Every bone in my body wants to run her through - send her back to that hole she crawled out of.” Dean growled and Sam did an inward dance of joy. “But when I’m near her…I dunno, something happens. I can’t explain it. But to call it desire, love…it’s not that.”  
Dean faltered and Sam gave an audible sigh of frustration. If only there was a certain angel about who could snap him out of it…  
“I’m screwed, man.” His older brother finished. If you had only been screwed in the ass by an angel years ago, maybe we wouldn’t be having these problems, Sam sighed inwardly. “We wanna kill the Darkness…we need to kill the Darkness. And I don’t think I can. I’m sorry to do that to you, y’know?”  
The older Winchester was hanging onto the edge of the Bottomless Pit of Angst again, so Sam felt he’d throw him a proverbial rope.  
“I got it Dean.” Sam would get Castiel and Dean together even if it meant killing the goddamn Sister of God. The brothers shared a meaningful, angst-dusted nod, then headed on out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safe to say he had a better Valentines Day than Cas. Anyhoo, Supernatural is going on a hiatus, which means I will be too after The Vessel (stay tuned, get the painkillers ready). I've also been rewatching some Spn, and I don't know about you guys, but recently I really miss Sam's sass, fire and the humour his character brought out. I hope they give him more to do that isn't just eternal worry about Dean :)  
> As usual, tell me what you think, and thanks so much for the kudos and the comments! n.n


	7. The Vessel - Part 1 (Dean Deems His Dream Isn't A Dream)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Try and say the chapter title 5 times really fast, it's less painful than what happens in this chapter.

“Rise and shine, lovebirds!” Sam’s smug little voice triggered the hunter-waking-response program and Dean’s eyes snapped open. It was so warm and cosy that he just wanted to flip Sam a very unenergetic finger and doze straight off again.  
“Mm.” Cas shifted behind him, the source of his snug situation; the wingless angel had his nose buried in Dean’s neck and an arm secured about Dean’s chest held him against that warmth.  
It had been a week since the emotionally constipated hunter had finally choked out his feelings for Castiel, and the angel had responded with kissing him silly against a wall – well, until Sam tossed them out of the motel they’d chosen for that case with the choice words ‘get a room’.  
Last night…mmm, what had happened last night? They’d watched some movie…The Devil Wears Prada that Sam had brought back because he’d thought it would be funny and ironic. After Dean’s initial grump, it had actually been kinda enjoyable, even though now he could almost see Lucifer doing a slut-drop on the table in stilettos and a Devil stripper outfit. Wait a second…Dean blinked. Nope, definitely some weird crap left over from whatever he’d dreamed about.  
Dean gave a deep sigh and wriggled back into Cas. Last night had been good. Nah, they hadn’t gotten frisky, but that was ok. Long after the movie had finished, they just talked and talked. Dean gave the angel all his concerns – that he was heaping too much on Sammy, that he had become the slave to some freaky god-creature, that he didn’t know if he could ever be at peace or happy, that everything was his fault. Cas had just held his hand, nodded and responded when he needed to, and just filled that ache of loneliness. Yes, to Dean’s shame, there had been tears, but Cas kissed them away. Then the angel confessed how he missed his wings like a human might miss their legs, how he felt hated by his species and expendable, that he despised being so underpowered because he couldn’t help his friends or save them. Dean just smoothed over that jet black hair and pressed their foreheads together with a little smile.  
“We’re both broken and kinda crap at the moment, but y’know what?” He’d said to Cas. “You fix me and I’ll fix you and we can be crappy - and happy – together.”  
The sound of someone gagging made Dean peel open an eye again, but nothing was there, not even his brother. Maybe Sam’s hair had become sentient and was fighting with its master for dominance. Dean snorted at the thought. Little bro would have to win that fight himself.  
“Mmm, what is it Dean?” Cas mumbled into the fine hairs on Dean’s neck.  
“Oh nothing, just thinking about how ridiculous Sam’s hair is.” Dean wrapped his hand around the one curled over his heart.  
“You know, my hair was longer than that around the birth of Christ.” Cas kissed the nape of Dean’s neck, voice still adorable and soft with sleep.  
“Really?” Dean couldn’t imagine Cas with long Jesus locks.  
“Sadly I was rejected from that vessel and then he was martyred. I could tell you the story if you want.” Stories from Cas’s ancient history actually didn’t sound too bad.  
“How about I make you breakfast, and you tell me over some eggs, bacon and coffee.” Dean yawned and sat up. Cas sat up too, hair tousled like messed up raven feathers. Those big blue eyes made him look like something out of a Disney film (he could actually see the cartoon birds and deer, seriously, what was going on), and Dean just wanted to tackle him back into a snuggle-hug on the couch.  
“Dean, I would…” The angel looked so crestfallen, and Dean scrambled to remember what he’d done wrong. “I would love to eat something you have cooked, but it would most likely all taste like molecules to me.”  
“Then I’ll make you the best goddamn molecules you’ll ever taste, c’mon. Just once.” Dean kissed him on the cheek, took his hand and pulled him toward the kitchen, where Sam may or may not have won the war against his hair. Cas graced him with a rare, dorky little smile, and a huge bubble of warmth welled up within the hunter. This was what he’d always wanted. Someone he could be honest with, someone who he trusted with his life, someone who had seen him at his best and his (demonic) worst and still stuck by him. It had been Cas all along. Cas, who he didn’t have to constantly worry about being dragged brutally into the Hunter life like Dean had always fretted about with Ben and Lisa. Cas who almost knew him better than he knew himself. Cas who just made him feel… _whole_. Dean couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he waltzed into the kitchen. True Sam was in there, but as soon as he saw the couple he grimaced.  
“I’m an idiot piece of long-haired crap, so I’m just gonna leave. Possibly die. Alone. Cause I’m a weak douchebag.” Sam strode out.  
Dean wasn’t sure what the heck that meant, so he just let his brother go. Cas picked up a bag of coffee and poured it into a cup with a slight look of confusion.  
“Whoa, whoa, slow down there crazy!” Dean laughed _actually laughed_ (something he hadn’t done with sincerity for so long he couldn’t remember) as he took the mug half-full of raw powder.  
“What? What did I do wrong?” Cas looked from the mug to Dean’s smile. The angel had only ever bought coffee from a dispenser. “This and liquid creates the drink that you like, is that correct?”  
“Yeah Cas, a little bit of coffee powder, like, five teaspoons of sugar, milk and water.” Dean chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Though everyone has it differently.”  
“That…sounds complicated.” That adorable frown invaded the angel’s features.  
“Get a teaspoon and c’mere, I’ll teach you how to make coffee while you tell me about 2000 BC or whatever.” Dean grinned and ruffled that already sleep-tousled hair.  
And that’s how they spent the morning. Even without trying, Cas managed to crack Dean up throughout his story, and the angel prepared several good cups of coffee. Cas even ate Dean’s breakfast, which led onto a conversation about how Gabriel could enjoy candy while he could only taste molecules.  
“Dean…I…I have a confession.” The angel wiped a towel over one of the breakfast dishes Dean had put on the drying rack.  
“Your undying love for me and my perfect ass?” He flashed the little guy a winning smile, but Cas just stuttered and the floor seemed more interesting than Dean right now.  
“It…it’s just…” The angel sighed, mouth in a hard line as he continued to wipe the bone-dry dish.  
“Cas, you know you can tell me anything, right?” Dean placed his hands on his boyfriend’s forearms. Yes, boyfriend. And proud. “Now, what’s the matter, angel?”  
Dean gave a wink, but the pun didn’t brighten Cas’ mood.  
“Dean, the other day when you mentioned that you or…or Sam had a dream about me, or that I was sending you dreams…I…I’m so sorry Dean, I just wanted to know how you felt.” Cas turned away from him, and Dean swore for a moment that he could hear dramatic soap opera music.  
“W-w-wait, you mean this is a dream? And this…is _real_ you?” Dean’s heartbeat filled his ears. Cas leaned his back against the counter and nodded, plate and towel still in his hands.  
“I made sure that everything you did was of your own volition… I didn’t use you, I would never use you.” Those blue eyes never left the floor, because if they had, Dean might have seen the massive pile of Satanic bullshit in them.  
“Then…then cool, let’s do it, let’s date. Why the hell not? If it’s gonna be like this, I’m done with giving a damn!” Excitement and joy inside Dean bubbled up like a ball of sunshine within him. “I want you, you want me…it’s only because I’m being such a damn idiot that we’re not together already!”  
It felt so good to finally just blurt everything out. His breath came in short gasps from the deep seated anxiety of this moment, but it felt as though a huge weight – a giant, thousand tonne weight – had been lifted off him. Dean hadn’t grinned so wide or honestly in forever and it made his head spin.  
“R..really?” Cas grated, his eyes wide.  
“To quote Shrek: ‘Really really’. You adorable ball of feathers.” Before the angel could do anything, Dean grabbed him by that too attractive jaw, pushed him against the bench and kissed him. The plate smashed on the lino as Lucifer almost smote him on the spot, but Dean had his eyes closed, so he had no clue about the Satanic fury he’d just invoked. Something tugged at his mind, something burned…  
  
Dean jolted awake as his fingernails clawed into his stomach and chest. The tug inside him blossomed into light and excitement, but a sick, black desire lacerated that warmth as it grew.  
“Arrgh!” Dean cried, bent over and retched as if he were about to throw up. Sam didn’t hear a thing. Sam was galloping through the meadows of dream-land, his Pantene-perfect hair flowing in the dramatic breeze. That’s what you get for drinking almost half a bag of coffee before bedtime.  
“No. No!” Dean glared at the emptiness of his bedroom. “I’ve decided what I want. Now get the hell outta here!”  
That brightness – ok, yeah whatever, be soppy, call it love – within him slammed into the poisonous infection so hard that it didn’t stand a chance. Well, at least that’s what Dean thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh. The pain begins. Take Satan away from me. Yes, I'm overusing the dream sequences but but but I'm allowed heh c: Also I'm very confused about angels tasting things, as I just saw an episode where Balthazar (miss u bby) drank some Winchester whisky and was happy. Idk D:  
> I won't be doing Beyond the Mat, but did anyone pick up on the weird comparison they were doing between Sam's old crush and the wrestler Dean used to 'admire'? Food for thought ;) And as an aside, someone give Misha an Oscar, his acting is outta this world. Anyhoo, thank you so much for all your comments and kudos, and as always let me know what you think of this new chapter c:  
> I have also published a book!!! It's fun, pretty gay and about supernatural things! Check it out [ here](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback) n.n


	8. The Vessel - Part 2 (Sam Gets Several New Nicknames)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean is so happy it makes Sam uncomfortable and Satan gets bitchy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive shout-out to Mordhena who was amazing bought my the book I wrote and published! Thank you so much! Check their work out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena/works) and check out my book too [(here)](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback) if you want. It's about supernatural things and humour too c:

Sam was all but certain that Dean was possessed. Who had taken his sad-eyed, growling, angst-ridden brother and turned him into the personification of the song I’m Walking On Sunshine? Even the lack of coffee didn’t bring him down too much. He’d just opted for a healthy noontime beer instead. Dean put it down to ‘getting up on the right side of bed’, but unless Castiel had done a booty-call during Sam’s coffee comatose, this was unnatural, possibly supernatural.  
“The sub was sunk…the ship and its contents haven’t been recovered to this day. Ok, it’s lost.” Sam threw his hands up. Every time they found a scrap of hope to beat The Darkness with, it was thrown in their faces. But Dean just smiled like he was surrounded by daisies and butterflies. Maybe it was time to get out the holy water. Or…or break out a picture of one of their dead friends. This was just too weird.  
“Or is it?” Dean raised an eyebrow that contained more happiness than Sam had seen in his whole brother put together in a long time.  
“Well yeah, I’d say so.” Sam hadn’t seen so much positivity in years, and it threw him for a loop. “I mean, they’ve been trying to locate it for years. If James Cameron and his Avatar billions can’t find it…”  
“Yeah, but…we have something James Cameron didn’t have.” A little smug, _very distracted smile_ replaced that grin. Oh Sam knew that look. He’d know that look from a thousand miles away. The mooning look. If the next sentence didn’t involve the words ‘angel’or ‘Cas’, Sam was going to eat his entire laptop. “Cas can help.”  
“Dean, the guy’s shattered. He has no wings and his Grace isn’t all there yet, remember?” _Sam_ found himself being the negative voice of reason. What the heck? Had Dean found some Angst-Away spell that left a radiation zone?  
Dean just gave another little, bordering on love-struck, smile. “Sam, trust me on this. He can help. He will help. Hasn’t he always?”  
“Yeah, but – “  
“Then have a little faith in the guy, Sam!” Dean looked at him as though he’d grown another limb. What? Sam wasn’t the one acting weird in this situation! “C’mon, I’ll call him.”  
Dean looked so happy and excited that his little brother couldn’t bear to reason him out of it. Maybe Dean _had_ finally recognized his feelings. In this day of angels, demons and sisters of God, miracles had to be up there too, right? The older Winchester pushed speed-dial, and Sam swore he could see a blush on those stubbly, manly-man cheeks. It rang for a little too long – usually Cas answered within seconds _because he was fucking in love with Dean_ , but then the familiar voice grated out the speaker.  
“Hello Dean.”  
“Hey Cas, you little ball of feathers, how’re you doin’?” Dean grinned like a schoolgirl on her first date, and Sam’s eyebrows were about to make sweet, sweet love with his hairline.  
“I am doing well, Dean. How are you?” Cas queried, and Sam just wanted to knock their stupid heads together.  
“I’m…so good Cas, real good.” Dean tugged played with his plaid collar and Sam just wanted a void to scream into. JUST DATE. The older Winchester noticed Sam’s eyebrows about to take flight and cleared his throat. “Uh, we found something that we believe might contain some of God’s power…like a weapon or something. The catch is, the thing was on a sub that went down during World War II.”  
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Cas said something that Sam didn’t quite catch, but whatever it was, it made Dean smile like a disgusting lovesick puppy. If frustration could explode someone, Sam would’ve been splattered on the wall.

“Castiel? Castiellll? Come out, come out wherever you arrrre!” Lucifer sang. Castiel had fled like a wounded animal into his own memories. He knew he couldn’t hide from the Devil forever; he knew he’d be forced to look into those disgusted eyes again. But he needed time to bury his emotions, to build up walls again.  
“I know, _I know_ I broke you little Cas…” Lucifer’s pout was in his tone. “But I’ve got so much more for you to see, and we’ve got to pay your boyfriend a visit!”  
The lesser angel focussed on the memory of following a honey bee’s flight. To be insane again would be freedom. To be that simple and flighty and unchained by reality…  
“Heeeeeere’s Luci!” A hand shattered the memory Castiel had been hiding in and grabbed him by the collar. “Long time no see, buddy.”  
The blonde archangel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. The lesser angel steeled himself, but knew his being shook. It was all he could do to keep a blank face and stay silent.  
“Y’know, I let you have your moment to cry in a corner because I had important things to do. But now it’s showtime, and didn’t I promise a first row seat to the Lucifer concert?” Lucifer dragged him back to where they could both see the door to the bunker. Castiel just stared at the floor and slumped where the archangel dropped him.  
“Now that’s no fun!” Lucifer bent over him. Castiel didn’t look at his expression, but could hear the mock worry in the archangel’s voice. “Where’s Sass-Cas, hmm?”  
A vice appeared out of nowhere, and held his head in place. He couldn’t close his eyes or look away, only at what Lustiel could see.  
“Hey Cas!” Dean bounded out of his chair and pulled Lustiel into a hug. Castiel just felt sick when he looked at Dean now. It hurt so much that the human trusted him, believed him to be good and honourable…  
“But in the end, you’ll always be a somewhat perverted disappointment, and an expendable one at that. Mm hm.” Lucifer nodded in a matter-of-fact kind of way, but Castiel didn’t have the energy to respond.  
“Hello Dean.” Lustiel lifted his arm and smoothed a piece of Dean’s hair behind his ear with a small smile. The hunter caught the hand before it left his face and held it for a moment. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to look at the eyes that brimmed with happiness. It seemed every kind of wrong.  
“Wh…” Castiel coughed from the lack of using his voice. “What are you doing?”  
“You know me, a regular flirt.” Lucifer winked and turned back to the show.  
“Cas, I – “  
“So Cas, what can you tell us about The Hand of God?” Sam interrupted the usual loving gaze between the pair as he strode into the room with a sandwich. Dean dropped the hand and pretended to scratch the back of his head.  
“Tell him later.” The hunter mouthed and gave a minute shake of his head.  
“Tell…Lucifer, what did you do?” Castiel snarled, but the pieces were coming apart inside him. The archangel just hummed ‘Matchmaker’ from Fiddler on the Roof and waggled his eyebrows. Satan really needed to get with the times. _“What did you do?”_  
Cas struggled against the vice, but his essence just wasn’t in it. The energy, the spark, the strength he had once found in Dean’s presence just fizzled out. Outside, Lustiel examined the pictures the Winchesters had pinned up.  
“There were several God-touched objects, but it never occurred to me that any had survived the flood, let alone the 20th century.”  
Lucifer’s excitement grew as Castiel’s energy faded. Now that it seemed victory was within their grasp, he couldn’t even plan a way to get rid of the archangel without his thoughts being heard.  
“Do you think we can use it against Amara?” Sam looked skeptical, but Castiel didn’t blame him; up till now he’d been all but useless.  
“Oh shut your pathetic mouth, you freakishly tall, plaid-clad gigolo.” Satan curled his lip, but he had the self-control to make Lustiel seem enthused.  
“It’s perfect.” The archangel turned back to the brothers as Castiel’s empty eyes watched a hundred scenes of how Satan would just love to murder them right about now. “And I can get you back there!”  
Sam on the other hand, had no idea of his creative new title, and balanced Dean’s hopeful smile with his newfound negative vibes.  
“Without wings?” The younger Winchester’s forehead creased in such worry that Lucifer almost lost control of Lustiel’s eye-rolling reflex. “Cas, you can’t even teleport.”  
Again, Sam’s worry did reflect on Castiel’s own condition. See, without Lucifer they wouldn’t need him. They wouldn’t want him there and the Winchesters would have simply sent him away again.  
“I don’t remember asking your opinion on the matter, Princess Dog-Fucker.” Satan sighed, and looked across to the other angel. “You are right you know, Castiel. The only thing good about you is that you are willing to be a little bitch.”  
The lesser angel wished he could defend himself, but there was nothing to say.  
“Time travel – ah – it’s on a whole different system.” Lustiel grated.  
“Told ya.” Dean perked up with a smile.  
It didn’t reach Castiel though. A hollow emptiness ate away at the angel, and whenever he looked at either hunter, the humiliation and uselessness devoured him. Lucifer gave a camp look of disgust as Sam added another machete of logic towards their plan.  
“Ugh, y’know, I thought I’d tortured that boy enough, but no, he still opens that fat mouth of his and is a complete whiny bitch.”  
Lustiel ignored the boys and looked through the submarine’s co-ordinates and Lucifer continued. “I’m gonna sew his mouth shut one of these days. Or melt his teeth together. Or gag him with his own intestines; something fun.”  
There was more than just idle threats about Lucifer’s own whining. The hatred for both Winchesters resonated off the archangel, but there wasn’t much Castiel could do with his head in a vice.  
“My whining? _Really_ – “  
“Sam, it’s the ideal scenario.” Both Castiel and Lucifer almost had angelic hernias at the angst-ridden older brother’s positivity, and Dean unknowingly just saved his angel from some extreme violence. The older Winchester rattled off a whole load of Lucifer-plan-friendly pros, and all the celestial beings could do was stop and stare.  
“Maybe your little slut is good for something Cas.” Lucifer twirled a piece of Castiel’s hair around his finger, but the lesser angel could feel his annoyance from being around both the brothers at once.  
“That’s not a very good plan!” Sam couldn’t even believe he’d got to the point in his life where he had to discuss going back to Nazi Germany to retrieve actual God’s power from a submarine with his own recently demonic brother and an angel of the Lord who had severe hots for said brother. Definitely a weird point in life, but looking back, probably not the weirdest.  
“Well, if things get out of hand, Cas will just zap me back.” Dean looked as Cas. Cas looked at Dean. Sam just wanted to gently lift up his phone as ‘My Heart Will Go On’ tinkled out of it to fill the silence. There were almost frickin love hearts bubbling up about them. Sometimes the entire world just made him want to cry tears of frustration until he became a puddle of Sam stew avec magnificent hair. That would teach them. That would teach them all.  
“You?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up. It was almost as if the writers of the show had taken away his sass and most of his personality to make him a side character who had to put up a mandatory protest to make sure the element of brotherly love stayed consistent.  
“You’re not going. Just in case things go sideways, somebody needs to be left standing to take care of The Darkness. We can’t risk us both, and at the moment I’m the least valuable player.” Oh yeah Dean, you just want quality time with Cas. You can just say that outright, y’know? Sam almost pulled his Almighty Bitchface, but couldn’t bring himself to disagree when Dean looked like a hopeful puppy. “You both know that I can’t kill Amara, so the least I can do is get the thing that we need so that you can!”  
“And blah-de-blah-de-blah.” Lucifer rolled his eyes as Sam protested again. The other angel could only watch with a heavy heart as Dean defended his ‘Cas’ and heaped all his trust on the perverted creature he called a friend.  
“Oh you’re so angsty you could be a Winchester, Castiel!” Lucifer sighed, conjured up a cattle prod and proceeded to pick his nails with it. “Look alive, huh? Talk to me.”  
An electric bolt zapped through Castiel’s arm, but it wasn’t enough to resuscitate him from the angelic angst coma he’d fallen into.  
“I won’t let him out of my sights.” Cas seemed to be undressing Dean with his eyes and Dean appeared to be giving him a suitable striptease. What was new? Sam rolled his eyes while they stared at each other. Maybe these two did need to get a room seventy or so years in the past.  
“You’ll stay by his side the entire time?” Some part of Sam hoped the angel would deadpan ‘til death do us part’, but Satan was not there to fulfil Sam’s hopes and dreams.  
“I will.” Cas looked at Dean with such a possessive streak that it was obvious to everyone in the room (who weren’t currently being threatened by Satan and electricity) that the older Winchester had popped a boner.  
“You see why I don’t like Sam?” Lucifer sighed and poked Castiel’s angelic nipple with his cattle prod as he scrutinized the boys. “I mean, _me_ I might accidentally, y’know, hurl Dean into another dimension. But he thinks he’s talking to you. _You!_ You don’t even let him out of your sights when he’s asleep, which is really creepy and stalkerish – you should be ashamed y’know. But Sam… I think I took most of his brain cells out in hell, dontcha think? Hmm?”  
Castiel jolted as his titty was zapped again by the Devil. He liked it when Dean was asleep. It was only then that the hunter seemed truly at peace, and it calmed the angel too. But now he couldn’t even look at Dean, the person who truly made him happy. The one he could never have.  
“Then just give up hot-shot. Why put yourself through so much pain when you get nothing out of it?” Lucifer dragged this electrified tip of his weapon down Castiel’s cheek. “Move on. Find a nice little angel – or demon, I’ve heard you swing that way too – settle down, become an – “ Lucifer gestured to his outfit with his teeth bared in disgust. “ – accountant or whatever that’s meant to be and forget the Winchesters. I could do that you know. Rip out all those memories…Or maybe I will anyway, just for fun.”  
The Devil laughed at the fear that poured off the lesser angel, and stretched his wings, ready to retrieve the weapon that would win him the Earth back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the next installment of The Vessel! This is Part 2 of 4, so buckle up c: I would love to hear what you think, so leave a comment or some kudos if you like n.n Thanks to everyone who has already done so; you're awesome! :) Also if you were wondering the title is the song The Devil's Inside My Head by Kasey Chambers and Shane Nicholson.


	9. The Vessel - Part 3: Lucifer Exposes Himself And Nobody Is Pleased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel weaponizes his gayness and Sam is touched in all the wrong places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter contains violence; discretion advised if you don't like that kind of thing!  
>  This chapter also contains one of my favourite sentences in this fanfic: Castiel growled and strained against the party streamers.  
> Good job me, the insanity has finally hit home.

“Graceful.” The only thing that could have brightened Castiel’s day was the sight of Lucifer bouncing face-first off a submarine. Lucky for him, that was exactly what happened. Warding sigils glowed all about the inside and outside of the craft on all plains of existence; trying to enter would be the equivalent of a human trying to enter solid rock.  
“Oh like you would have done any better.” The archangel had hurled Dean through the hull like he was tossing the suspiciously happy human into the trash and found out afterwards that to an angel it was impassable. For once Castiel was glad that Satan was a little more abusive to his passengers than regular angels. “I mean, blowing the whole thing sky high would be the most fun option, but the we lose our Amara-bait and maybe even our weapon. I guess it’s down to the trained monkey.”  
Lucifer sighed, and the little defensive streak in Castiel burned at the insult to his human. If the Devil noticed the lesser angel’s pieces slowly pulling back together again, he didn’t say anything. On the Bluefin, none of the crew had any idea that Satan himself had just booted the man who had literally killed death (among other things) into their vessel from the future. Crazy times.  
Even though Castiel thought he could never look Dean in the eye again, a piece of him yearned not to leave the hunter’s side. But…he would be fine. Dean was always alright. The angel’s own uselessness proved that Dean could survive just fine without him. Lucifer flapped his bedraggled wings and they popped back up into the 21st Century outside the bunker door, drenched from head to foot.  
“Oh, unless, y’know, we can’t get back and little Deanbean gets – “ Lucifer conjured an image of Dean in their shared space, which immediately burst into bloodied molecules as the archangel puffed out his cheeks with a little explosion noise.  
“We need the Hand of God and we need Dean to defeat the Darkness.” Castiel sighed and tried to fill the emptiness inside with the bigger picture, the greater purpose. He didn’t want to love Dean anymore, and part of him wished he could revert back to the blinkered soldier he’d once been. But that ache clung on and wouldn’t let go.  
“Y’know, it’s nice you’re talking again ya little haloed whore.” Lucifer threw him a wink, but pool of frustration simmered under his tone. If Castiel knew Lucifer, he hated his plans being shown up and he _hated_ having to put his trust in a human. “And now we’re stuck with my little bottom bitch, Sammy. Could this day get worse?”  
Lustiel squelched down the stairs, and even Castiel could tell that Satan’s own irritation showed up on their face.  
“Cas? Why’re you…wait a second, where’s Dean?” Sam’s worried little expression seemed to piss Lucifer off even further. In fact just Sam in general made the archangel’s being itch for torture.  
“We made the leap. He got on, I didn’t.” Lustiel gave Sam the Castiel TM side-eye.  
“What?” Sam leapt up from his chair, hair all a-flutter.  
“Bitch, did I stutter?” Lucifer raised his eyebrows, but even in his infernal annoyance, Satan didn’t crack and explode the Winchester. In fact the bitching seemed to help. If verbally abusing Sam calmed the archangel down, Castiel reckoned he’d probably go into Zen Master meditation level peace from torturing him.  
“I couldn’t make it past the hull.” Lustiel took a towel from Sam and Lucifer made it seem as though the towel had soaked up the water rather than celestial archangel powers. “Someone must have warded the ship.”  
“Delphine? It must have been Delphine.” Sam followed him through to the next room.“Cas… just go back to their last port before she boarded, leave a message so Dean knows!”  
“I should really tear this towel into strips, tie it around your tongue and rip it out. That’d teach you to keep your stupid-ass ideas inside your head.” Lucifer muttered as if Castiel weren’t even there. It was like watching a jealous girlfriend looking through pictures of her ex.  
“Where? Where would Dean see it where the crew wouldn’t? He’s as likely to find the warding as he would any message I’d leave.” Lustiel growled, as Satan slipped back into his own expressions.  
“Then send me. You got Dean past the hull - ” Sam suggested.  
“Ha. Ha. Haha!” Lucifer gave a laugh of disbelief. “I did _not_ torture you hard enough. Or then again, maybe I am the one to blame for your lack of braincells. I mean, I think I pulled some out myself.”  
“Then it seems even you reap what you sow.” Castiel butted in on Lucifer’s little hate-fest and burst into flames for the trouble of it. This time the Devil didn’t even try to school his face as Lustiel spoke.  
“Right. We’ll double down on what screwed us the first time. You’re really bringing your A ideas today.” How Sam didn’t recognize that Lustiel was Lucifer was beyond the sizzling, backseat angel.  
“I can’t believe I lost it.” Lucifer sat them both down and tried to reel himself back in. He even doused Castiel. Only Sam made him bitchy enough to the point of losing his cover. Then both angels took one look at Sam’s face and knew Lucifer had fucked up.  
“Dean, you have to say Dean. I would always…have Dean as top priority.” Castiel grimaced at how…how _obvious_ and obsessed he was. He didn’t even look at the archangel, but knew the revolted smirk Lucifer wore. The memory of himself declaring his physical and emotional attraction to the Dean in the Devil’s little dream world reared its head and made the lesser angel’s being cringe.  
“Him. I can’t believe I lost Dean.” Lustiel affirmed, and Sam seemed to give his approval. “Well it’s up to him now to find and clear the warding.”  
“No. we can help. There’s gotta be something in magic or angel lore – some way to clear the sigils from the outside.” Sam didn’t see Cas’s almighty, uncharacteristic eye-roll as he strode to the bookshelves. They had to get Dean back. A) because yes, they all loved Dean and wanted him home. But B) Cas would become Dean-deprived and get bitchy if they didn’t get the hunter back quick. And Sam wasn’t going to survive several apocalypses, Satan and a few deaths just to be wiped out by a broody angel. He’d heard Cas had once assaulted a cashier to get Dean some pie, so who knew what he’d do to get his boyfriend\eternal soulmate back.  
“Cas. Don’t worry.” You sweet, tiny child of God, Cas, too precious for this world, don’t worry! Please don’t worry and go cray cray; we’ll get your Deanbean back. Sam put on his best ‘comforting the unstable’ face. “We’ll bring him back.”  
“I think Samantha has noticed your little crush, trenchcoat boy.” Lucifer did his best to hold Lustiel’s face in a giving-a-fuck expression and Castiel sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Despite the fact that Lucifer almost snapped and made a crater out the bunker several times, they (Sam) had actually succeeded in finding a spell to eradicate the effects of the sigils. While Sam had been ‘off combing his pretty little head of hair’ as Lucifer put it, the archangel collected all the ritual ingredients and set to work. They would get Dean back. They would.  
“Hey.” Sam breezed around the corner in a curtain of silky brown locks and a whiff of Schwarzkopf. “Cas, what is that?”  
“Oh look, Covergirl is back. Just what I need.” Lucifer slammed the cleaver into their Tibetan Doom Turnip a little harder than necessary. Castiel had learned not to interrupt Satan’s bitching; at least while he was muttering about Sam, he was occupied with something other than murder or torture.  
“I’m getting to that, don’t you worry your little feathers off.” Lucifer absently tugged a ragged black pinion out of Castiel’s broken right wing and the lesser angel gave a cry of pain.  
“It’s your Spell of Gathering.” Lustiel grated as they chopped the Doom Turnip.  
“Are you nuts? You’re not strong enough! Cas you could get hurt!” Sam’s worried expression just made the incognito archangel snigger.  
“Aw look, widdle Sam is worried about you? Why not pick the other Winchester, hmm, Cas? I mean he is my sloppy seconds but Dean is everyone’s sloppy seconds.” Lucifer stroked Castiel’s jaw with the angel’s own ragged feather. “Then again, that kid does have the Dick of Death. Seriously, they should check that out, it might be contagious.”  
Satan pulled a mock face of concern but Castiel just let the insults wash over him. Yes, they pricked at the raw spot of self-hatred and disappointment within him. Even the feather in Lucifer’s hand made him sad and his second set of shoulder muscles ached to fly again.  
“You find a better option?” Lustiel kept up the calm and collected plant-hacking, even though that meat-cleaver was walking the thin line between helpful and homicidal.  
“Well…no, but without a serious boost to your angel power that spell won’t even work!” Sam’s protests just crawled into the cracks of Lucifer’s veneer. Even in his state, Castiel was getting second-hand Face Punching vibes.  
“My strength may surprise you.” Lucifer’s effort to put on the ‘Castiel’ voice diminished with each sentence. Sam, however, just put it down to stress. Ok, so Cas was acting a little weird, but there were times where the little guy did go to extremes. Such as when Dean was in trouble. Or needed help (or pie). Or turned into a Deanmon. Classic Dean.  
“Wait a second.” Sam felt blessed with bright ideas today. Well of course. He’d always told Dean: The more hair, the more wisdom. Dean had just said that Sam’s hair grew with his pain, but who was laughing now, huh? “I remember Bobby told me when you needed strength to retrieve us from the past you used him to power up; you touched his soul, right?”  
“That’s right I did that. But, er, that procedure, it can be fatal.” Cas continued his war against turnips.  
“Use my soul. Then maybe you’ll have enough power to wield the spell.” Sam knew the procedure was painful, yes, Castiel had tried to touch his (absentee) soul before. But after doing hundreds of rounds of torture in The Cage with Lucifer, hell, it’d be a good deal under his threshold. Seriously, last week he’d been captured and tortured by a couple of dark faerie creeps who fed on the suffering of others. Sam had fallen asleep he’d gotten so bored. By the time Dean reached him, the monsters had died of starvation and Sam was the most well-rested he’d been in weeks.  
“Your soul? That thing hasn’t got enough zest to make a martini, never mind time travel.” Lucifer gestured to the moose in their headlights with Castiel’s feather and raised his eyebrows. “C’mon Sammy, get with the program!”  
But Sam had no clue about his Sassy Satanic Majesty delivering a sick burn to his soul, just like old times.  
“That isn’t necessary.” A strange little smile played around Cas’ lips, like he knew something Sam didn’t. Or maybe he was just going cray cray from the absence of Dean; both were very possible.  
“Why am I even making up excuses anymore?” Lucifer suddenly seemed to notice that no, he didn’t actually _need_ Sam for anything. Damn. Castiel had hoped his obsessed bitching would make Satan overlook that one detail.  
“It’s worth the risk. Cas, Dean needs our help.” _Dean_ , Cas .If anything would persuade the angel, it would be that. If Cas still refused to do it after dropping the D bomb, yeah, Sam would admit full-out defeat right there. He opened his arms and heart to the angel. For your true love, Cas. For my bro. “I trust you.”  
“No, no, no, I can’t do this anymore. I just…” Lucifer dissolved into cackles.  
In the shared mind of Lustiel, two things had simultaneously made the Devil crack the fuck up. Firstly, Castiel couldn’t hide or control his swell of desire, protectiveness and yearning for Dean as Sam uttered the words ‘Dean needs our help.’ (little did he know, Sam was bang-on the mark). He wanted Dean, even though he felt sick and dishonest around the human, he wanted him back where he could see him, know he was safe, feel the vibrations of his being that were always somehow comforting to the angel…and then there was Sam’s trusting, innocent little puppy-dog face. So open and naïve and gullible… Lucifer sniggered, giggled, then wheezed, fanned himself with Castiel’s feather and finally cracked while Lustiel began to laugh too.  
He’s cracked. Sam thought. He’s been deprived of Dean too long and has fucking lost the plot. This is the end. This is how we all go.  
“Cas…” Sam tested, not sure whether to laugh along or not. Maybe if he agreed with Cas, the angel wouldn’t punch him through a wall in a Dean-deprived rage. “What’s so funny?”  
“Oh it’s, it’s just…I don’t need you anymore.” Rude, for one. Cas grinned, and his voice lost its guttural, deep pitch. Yup. He’d lost it. “I mean, Dean’s the one with a link to Amara. Why have I been trying to spare you?”  
And it was at that moment Sam realized he had fucked up. Lucifer watched his face drop with glee, and blew on a musical party straw while wearing a party hat emblazoned with the words ‘Murder Party’. Castiel found himself tied to a chair with streamers that looked paper-thin, but were immovable. Hatred and glee coursed off the archangel, and Castiel could see every method of hurting and killing Sam race through Lucifer’s thoughts.  
“I mean, maybe it’s because you’re like the girl who kept turning me down at the prom.” An image of Sam in a glittery silver gown, tiara and strappy high-heels appeared in their space as Lustiel grabbed Sam by the shirt and slammed him up against a wall. The immediate thought ‘Dean would have enjoyed being tossed about like that’ flicked through Castiel’s head but he squashed it before Lucifer could taunt him for it. But the archangel barely even glanced in Castiel’s direction and the lesser angel could see that red sheen flit across his eyes. The Devil had been waiting for this moment for years, and now it was plain to any angel that the fire of evil scorched through him. Whatever Sam had been through in the Cage, Lucifer was going to top it tenfold.  
“And as I promised, Castiel, you have the best view in the house!” Lucifer rubbed his hands together and stared straight into Sam’s eyes. The lesser angel tried to rip his arms out of the party-themed bonds, but Lucifer could read every one of his thoughts. He couldn’t surprise the archangel enough to take control and save Sam.  
“I will touch your soul, just because you asked so nicely, and I’ll use your spell to blast through the warding and retrieve Dean and the Hand of God…” Lustiel grinned in anticipation. Castiel could see the Devil’s imagined picture of Dean’s heartbroken face as he saw what a horrific end Sam had met. “…and then when Dean comes back and finds this place decorated with your guts…I will tell him the truth, Sam. I’ll just say Dean –“  
Luficer paused and schooled his face. Castiel noticed, to his shame and embarrassment, that Lucifer always used Dean’s name to fall back into the character of ‘Castiel’. Maybe…maybe Dean did define who he was now.  
“ – Dean. He knew the risks. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Lucifer filled Lustiel’s voice with mock sorrow.  
“Lucifer.” Sam breathed out his fear. Oh, now there wasn’t just God’s sister out to break up his perfect couple, but Satan too. Typical. And he was probably going to die without seeing them be all lovey-dovey. But of course.  
“In the flesh.” Lustiel nodded in faux sympathy, drew back his hand and slowly – ever so slowly – plunged it into the human’s essence. Lucifer let out a chortle of glee as Sam threw back his head and screamed.  
“Lucifer, stop!” Castiel growled and strained against the party streamers. “This will serve no purpose!”  
“But it’s like music to my ears.” Lucifer did a little waltz and didn’t even turn to look back at his prisoner. “Oh, how I have missed this particular little tune!”  
What could he do to save Sam and Dean from his deal with the Devil? What could possibly distract this being of immense power and hold him back? Then Castiel knew. It had worked on another archangel of enormous supremacy, so it might just work on Lucifer. Castiel didn’t even think. He had to save them.  
“Hey! Assbutt!” Castiel yelled, and to his surprise, Lucifer turned around with a confused and incredulous look on his satanic face.  
“What – “  
The lesser angel shattered his shame, his humiliation and let everything he felt for Dean fill him up. The love for the little human who had taught him so much, the aching comfort he found around Dean – in his voice, his mannerisms, even the way he walked. Castiel focussed on his desire to be there for Dean whenever he needed him, despite whether Dean would do the same; his wish to protect and hold the human, to tell him that everything was ok, that he would always have an angel to watch over him. Castiel even took the lust to have Dean in every sense, and the horrid agony that Dean would never want him back and poured it straight at the archangel. Everything that disgusted Lucifer, everything that Lucifer wanted to hurt him with and destroy him with, Castiel gathered up and projected on to his jailor. The bonds about his arms snapped and the angel tackled Satan to the ground with such good form that New Zealand’s All Blacks would probably have recruited him. The archangel went down face-first with Castiel on top of him.  
“Sam, it’s me.” Castiel struggled out as Lucifer elbowed him so hard in the ribs that something broke. The blonde archangel tried to flip over, but Castiel planted a knee in the small of his back.  
“Cas!... Why?” Sam panted through a curtain of pain and fabulous hair.  
“I wanted to be of service to the fight and only Lucifer can beat her.” Castiel shuddered as he caught the blow of a huge archangel wing on the skeleton of his own and the joint popped backwards.  
“You chose this? You have to fight, Cas. Eject him now!” Sam roared like an angry moose, but even the moose-roar couldn’t fix everything.  
“I can’t! It’s taking all of my strength to stop him from killing you.” Another wing roared towards him, but Castiel caught it and used its own momentum to yank the appendage downwards. Lucifer gave a cry of pain as the other angel’s hand came away full of white feathers. “And besides, we need him!”  
“No Cas, we don’t. We’ll find another way to stop Amara.” Sam was barely audible as Lucifer twisted and smacked Castiel with all of his right wings and a fist. The lesser angel rolled across their shared space, but still hung onto control of Lustiel by his fingernails.  
“We need him to save Dean.” He managed out and it was at this moment that Sam knew he was utterly and truly talking to the real Castiel. Within the vessel, the angel threw himself to the side as Lucifer appeared behind him in full archangel glory; all sets of wings arced upward in a display of power and rage, while the Devil’s whole being shone with white energy. Blue fire seemed to dance across his feathers, and those cold eyes narrowed on the other angel. Compared, Raphael’s rage looked like a child’s temper tantrum. And Castiel? Castiel thought of Dean and hung on.  
“You can’t time travel?” Sam’s eyes widened in horror, and the angel staggered to his feet to face his fate.  
“Only Lucifer can.” Castiel figured that would be the last sentence he ever said. Lucifer’s fist came down, and the lesser angel only just blocked it. A sick crunch echoed through his essence as the arm he defended himself with snapped. Another blow shattered his jaw, and he would have skidded across the space if Lucifer’s wings hadn’t smashed him back again.  
“Cas, Cas!” Sam cried, and the angel realized Lucifer had let his shouts of pain out of Lustiel’s mouth. The Devil’s boot crunched into his ribs again and again, until all he could do was curl into a ball and retch angel essence. Then Lucifer balled his fingers into the raw skin and scant feathers on the bones of Castiel’s wings and dragged him into the back of their consciousness. Even the archangel’s touch seared his essence. The lesser angel choked on pain, but his being was too ruined to even scream properly.  
“You’ve been a bad angel, Castiel. A very bad one.” Lucifer rammed a meat hook through Castiel’s left shoulder and the same again through his right shoulder, so that the angel hung in mid-air.  
“Submarine….goes d…down…i…in…ten seconds.” Castiel managed out, and lifted his blue eyes in a last effort of defiance. Lucifer would have to save Dean. And…and Sam and Dean would be ok…they would…  
Everything spun, but he didn’t black out.  
“Oh no no, you don’t get to miss out on the best part.” Lucifer spread his wings, ready to fly. “You’re going to watch as I strip off their skin with a comb made out of their own teeth. I will rip out pieces of their souls, one little atom at a time. I’ll make Dean believe he’s back in the Pit, torturing the damned, but when he comes to, it’ll be poor little Sammy on the other end of his knife.”  
Lucifer gripped Castiel’s jaw so tight that his nails ripped a hole in the other angel’s cheek. “And you will see all of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cas D: Lol, I couldn't resist using 'assbutt', it's pretty much an important historical quote at this point. Thank you to everyone for their comments and kudos! It's great hearing what you guys think, so drop a comment about what you thought of this chapter if you like! Of course, kudos is welcome too n.n I might be starting another Destiel fanfic soon (to fill in the hiatus break) so watch this space :) also, if you haven't already, why not go check out my novel [here](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback) :)  
> Thanks a heap!


	10. The Vessel - Part 4 (Dean Has An Emotion; Hallelujah Praise the Chuck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucifer is caught monologuing, Dean goes back to square one of Repressedville, Castiel tries to say I love you and fails and Sam superglues himself back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it might get confusing: From Castiel perspective, the vessel he shares with Lucifer is called Lustiel, but in Dean's perspective, Lustiel is referred to as Lucifer. Hopefully it's alright!

Dean gave an inward sigh of relief as the familiar sight of the bunker and the even more familiar sight of Cas met his eyes. If Sam hadn’t been there doing a ‘Draw Me Like One Of Your French Girls’ pose on the ground, then he would have given the little black-haired guy a ‘thank-you’ hug or even a kiss. The happiness that simmered through his veins at the thought of kissing the angel made his head spin. Damnit, he was acting like a nervous teenager, what the hell Dean? Wait, wait a second. Sam was doing what??  
“Dean! That’s not Cas!” Sam pointed at Cas, and Dean turned to look at the angel. What? Then Cas’s face contorted into a horrid grimace of fake guilt.   
“Cat’s out.” Lucifer gave a sigh of relief and tossed Dean across a table. Castiel couldn’t even twitch a feather in defense; essence dripped from his nose, mouth and ears as he hung from meat hooks. His jaw dangled slack and broken, useless for any sort of distraction he might try on Satan again. The inverted wing-joint screamed as his other one seared from Lucifer’s touch. But he’d saved Sam and Dean. In that moment he’d been of use.  
“Mm, I feel a burden lifted.” Cas…no…it had to be Lucifer in Cas’ vessel that threw a few shadow-spar punches as Dean crawled up onto his knees. The warmth in him curdled and sank like a poisonous stone in his gut. Lucifer. Lucifer was in Cas’s vessel. None of it had been Cas. He should have known. Good things _never_ happened to him. In a fell swoop of irony, Dean wouldn’t know a good thing even if it gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.  
“Y’know, this deep cover thing. It just wasn’t…wasn’t terribly well-thought out.” Lucifer allowed Dean to clamber upright again.  
“Like Dean in baby blue. Ugh, that’s awful. Not his colour at _all_.” The blonde archangel wrinkled his nose, but Castiel could agree with him there. Of all the colours Dean looked great in, he looked least great in that particular pastel blue.  
“Donning this ‘Cas’ mask, this grim face of angelic constipation, just ugh.” Lustiel continued, and Castiel just glared at the archangel through pain-blurred eyes. “And then teaming up with you two…I mean, I thought you boys were insufferable as mortal enemies, but working with you? Ugh, that’s the soul crusher!”  
Dean started forward. He’d frickin _punch_ the Devil outta Cas. He had no idea how that son-of-a-bitch had weaselled his way in there, but Dean was sure as hell gonna get him out. Too bad Satan pulled a air-bending move on his ass and threw him against a wall. Even…even if Lucifer had been playing with his feelings, nobody but Dean and the Devil knew. It could stay that way. They’d get Cas back and…and carry on like normal. The hunter knew he’d never be able to face that moment again and own up to actually wanting Cas. He’d push that dream Lucifer had given him so far down that even Cas wouldn’t be able to read it. Stow it in angst pile #1007651. The black poison he thought he'd banished dripped back into his veins again.  
“Why the faces boys?” That asshat pulled a contemplative face, but he hadn’t seen what Dean did; Sam’s bloody finger traced the first circle of an angel-banishing sigil just below the archangel’s line of sight. He just had to keep Lucifer talking. “You should be cheering. We have a common enemy and with this, she will not be a problem. I mean, I will have killed you both by then, but come on.”   
Then those bright blue eyes turned on Dean, but they were wrong, so, so wrong. Cas’s abused body jerked and twisted into gross new expressions that were so recognizably Lucifer, but on the face of someone…someone Dean…who was Dean’s friend. Yes, that’s what they were. That’s…all they ever could be. A sick clot of misery closed up Dean’s throat, and it sucked all the energy from his limbs.  
“But before you die, Dean, I want you to know something.” That evil bastard smiled, and Dean met his gaze although he braced himself for the worst.  
Inside their shared space, Lucifer turned to Castiel. “Any last words? Any touching ‘I love you’s’?”  
The lesser angel just dripped blood and grunted, but even with that small action, agony lanced through every inch of him.  
“Oh, I’ll pass it on.” Lucifer gave a perky smile at the other angel’s baleful stare.  
“Little Castiel is in here, y’know – I mean he’s about as good-looking as a tattered dish cloth right now. A bloodied, broken, half-dead dish cloth – I’m sure you know what that looks like, Dean.” Lucifer didn’t even need to hit the hunter to punch him where it really hurt.   
“Let him – “ Dean found his mouth sealed shut as Lucifer put a finger on Cas’…no, his lips.  
“But I might’ve –whoops – read your mind a little back there when I was searching the bunker. You know what I mean, I’m sure.” Lucifer raised an eyebrow and Dean’s heart just about stopped. Had…had Cas seen too? Oh God….Embarrassment flared in his cheeks and clawed through his stomach. No, please…“Well…if there’s one thing me and this sewer-rat angel agree on is that you are one disgusting individual. In fact, if he ever gets the chance to see you again, he probably won’t. You repulse him, Dean. Or maybe I should let him say it – just a moment.” Lucifer cleared his throat and Cas’s face slid back to its normal blank expression. “Dean. You disgust me, and I want nothing to do with you when this is over. How could you think such things of me?”  
Dean just gritted his teeth against the tide of emotion that sucker-punched him in the gut. No way was he gonna cry like a frickin baby in front of Lucifer. Or scream and rage or sob in a ball in the corner. It felt as though he was being torn apart by Hellhounds again, but this time from the inside out. Why couldn’t he ever be happy? Why couldn’t he ever just have the warm love like that dream…that gem in the crown of Lucifer’s instruments of torture: happiness. He remembered Sam quoting Lucifer once – “you can’t torture someone who’s got nothing left to lose.” So Lucifer has given him his deepest, darkest desire; the qareen’s ‘winner’. But… Cas had been present in those dreams, Cas had seen everything… Oh God…Maybe it _would_ be better if Lucifer just killed him here and now.  
Lucky for Dean, he’d been repressing emotion since 1983, so the only indication of this inner turmoil was a slight facial twitch.  
“Ss…” Castiel mumbled, and his eyes listed.   
“Oh, what’s that you’re trying to say, my little modern art piece?” Lucifer patted the scabs on Castiel’s wings, and the lesser angel groaned in pain.  
“St..p.” Grace and blood pattered onto the floor beneath his mouth.   
“Stop? Oh I’ll stop his _heart_ Cas.” Lucifer grinned and rolled up his sleeves. “Now let’s get that R18 rating ready, cause this is gonna get messssyyyy.”  
“Say your prayers, boys. It’s not like anyone will hear you.” Lustiel unwrapped the Hand of God and Lucifer took a deep, satisfied breath.  
“No. No!” Dean yelled. Sam was almost done. 5 more seconds and Lucifer would have been bitch-slapped into the Void. Then Cas’ familiar lips curled up in a horrible snarl.  
“It’s kicked.” Lucifer spat as Sam completed the sigil.  
“Well. Who’d have thought the hand of God would turn out to be a one-hitter.” Dean choked out over his immense pile of feelings.  
“How would you like him, Castiel? Fillet or extra crispy?” Lucifer glowered and Lustiel marched over towards the hunter. Sam slammed his hand on the sigil and both angels and their vessel were blasted into the Void in an explosion of white light.

“Dean? Dean, are you ok?” Out of their top ten worst days, this had to be one of them, Sam sighed. Not only was Dean’s outfit in a colour his brother should never wear, but Cas had turned out to be Satan and Dean had been drop-kicked back into the Angst Chasm.  
“You should stitch up that hand.” Classic Dean. But Sam could hear in his voice that his brother was far from stable. The younger Winchester couldn’t even be curious about what Lucifer had confronted Dean with – that he’d read his mind and seen things that disgusted Cas, things that would make the other angel not want to come near his brother again. Maybe…hm. Despite his previous excitement and frustration, when it came down to it Sam knew in his heart of hearts that Dean loved Cas beyond the bond of friends. And it seemed for a moment there, when Dean had been happy to the point of Sam’s confusion, that Dean had accepted his love for the angel despite him being off his brother’s set menu in both species and gender.  
“Lucifer was lying, Dean. I know him. He likes to – “  
“Just…” Dean lurched onto his feet, face hard like deceptive ice on a lake. He strode out of the room, and Sam pretended not to see him wipe away a tear as he went. The younger Winchester sighed and remembered he had a hand to patch up. When Dean was done doing battle with his hordes of feelings, Sam would drive them out somewhere for some fresh air and try to give him any sort of comfort he could. Although…he could never bring himself to tell Dean that Cas had confessed to letting Lucifer in of his own free will. Sam kinda understood it now, looking back. Dean had always taken Cas for granted; the angel had fallen, rebelled, died several times, been tortured, broken and given up his home and an entire army for them. He’d always come to their beck and call even when he was leading troops into war. Cas had held off archangels, stood his ground against Michael and Lucifer, the most powerful angels in existence; he’d killed his own brothers and sisters, been hunted and hated by his own kind all because of his loyalty to Dean and Sam. Loyalty that Sam had believed to mostly be love for Dean. And what did they repay him with? Sam sighed as he daubed excess blood from his palm. Sam himself had always tried to ensure the angel was ok or to persuade Dean to look after the little guy a bit better. But Dean…Cas had always spoiled Dean and now he took advantage of it, even going so far as to get angry when Cas didn’t give him attention. Sam looked up as a crash echoed from downstairs. He couldn’t find any dental floss, so he settled for a tube of superglue. If Dean had pulled his head outta his ass a little while ago, maybe Cas wouldn’t have had such low self-esteem to give himself up to Lucifer. Sam didn’t know why Dean couldn’t just take Cas aside once in a while to tell him he’d done an awesome job and was someone they wanted around if they had a problem that needed solving or not. Sam had tried, but he knew it meant more to Cas if it came from Dean. Whether it was because his older brother still saw Cas as an angel without emotions or because the angel made him insecure about his desires... Sam bandaged his cut with another sigh. One thing was for sure: even if Dean believed what Lucifer had said about Cas, Sam wasn’t going to lie down and swallow it. Those two were hopeless, and once again he was at the calm at the centre of their emotional tornado.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late chapter, I've been sick :( And now Supernatural is on hiatus, this fic is also on hiatus until I have new episodes to work with! Hopefully Safe House has some moments I can destiel up, because Beyond the Mat didn't really :/ Thank you so much to everybody who has left comments and kudos, you're all awesome! n.n If you want, tell me what you think about this chapter too! I will be starting a new fanfic to fill in the hiatus soon, so keep an eye on me ;P Until next time, friends! n.n


	11. Red Meat: (A Tribute to Sam Winchester. All Hail the Mighty Moose.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam flicks the epic switch, and Dean's angst literally kills him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writers of Supernatural are messing around (not progressing the story), so I am going to take one for the team and do the same. Here's a fun little filler for y'all ft. Sam fucking Winchester (warning, language and sass). Trigger warning for suicide, because that happens in the episode.

Heavy metal screamo music played in Sam’s head as he gasped back to life. Some bitch had killed him. He wasn’t going to take that lying down. He was Sam fucking Winchester. Nobody killed him and got away with it. The bullet wound tickled his stomach. How inconvenient his body was such a pussy, because he’d been trained by none of than the dark Satanic lord Lucifer to withstand so much pain that a mere bullet wound wasn’t going to do shit.  
“Dean?” He yelled and sighed inwardly as his body crumpled. For fuck’s sake. No, Dean had decided that Sam was either a) dead and gone into The Light or b) was so badass that he could resurrect himself, which it seemed he had done. Hell yeah, that’s what he had done. Sam couldn’t remember, but maybe he had moose charged the Reaper with a scream of animalistic, don’t-you-fuck-with-me rage and the Reaper had thought ‘fuck this shit I’m out’ and run. He’d like to think of it that way anyway. A car crunched along the path outside this dank-ass hut, and Sam peered through the blinds. Oh good. The werewolves had come back to get their asses handed to them. Because this Winchester wasn’t dying today, not in this crummy shack, not from some pathetic little werewolves. No. No. Where Satan had tried, these bitches would fail.  
I’m Sam fucking Winchester, Sam thought, over the epic metal riff in his head and limped towards the stairs.  
You’re lucky stairs, you know that? Sam thought as he all but fell down them. You get to bear the almighty Winchester down to relative safety. You even get the blessing of some of my blood.  
Sam was pretty sure their blood had magical properties by now. He’d been a demon, an angel, Satan, a small witch child…that had to count for something. Although he knew very well Dean’s tears had magical properties. Drop one of them babies on an average human and they’d scream, collapse and melt from the pure 100% angst.  
Dust sifted from the ceiling as some chunky hoe werewolf walked above him. Good. Sam wasn’t trapped in here with the werewolf. The werewolf was trapped in here with him. Seriously, these assholes should know to stay the frickity goddamn frack away from the Winchesters. Monsters? Ha! Sam and Dean were the monsters the _monsters_ told their kids about at night. Sam smiled to himself through his body’s stupid-ass reactions to taking a puny bullet to the stomach. Time to stab a bitch.

Even if he couldn’t save Sam, this was what he wanted. Dean had nobody left. Nobody in the world. Cas all but hated him and was strung up by Lucifer. Sam was dead, Bobby, Charlie, everyone... He had nothing to fall back on, nothing to lose. It was like that Soul Eater had predicted this. Because the sight of Sam dead on the floor hadn’t truly been the fear inside him. It was the hole that Sam left behind, the hollow emptiness and the pointlessness of his existence without a family or friends. Dean hadn’t told his little brother that he’d seen Cas too. Not dead with an angel blade through his heart, or hung up on a rack, ripped to pieces by whatever Lucifer had done to him, no, as much as Dean had expected that, it hadn’t come to pass. He’d seen the angel in the Nest. Cas had turned, looked at him…then his face tensed, disgust flitted across his features and he turned and strode away from Dean without a word. No matter how much Dean yelled and cried and begged for him to turn and look at him, to come back to him, Castiel did not even twitch in response.  
The older Winchester’s jaw clenched as he ripped open the medicine cabinet. It was true he’d thought about this option before, and the medication he needed to end his own life sprang to the fore of his memory by habit. Dean hadn’t realized how important Cas or his friends had been until he was here now, alone, with Sam dead and no one to help. No healing touches, no miraculous spell from Bobby, the air was dead and empty, and Dean couldn’t breathe it anymore, he just couldn’t. It was bring Sam back or bust. And either way wasn’t really a problem right now.  
“Ok, after I do this, go and get the doc…and tell her to erm…bring me back if she can. If not, no hard feelings, ok?” Dean felt a swell of strange peace coat his nerves. Not the way he’d always imagined he’d go, but deep down, it had always been one of the most likely – up there with the monster mash.  
“You don’t have to do this.” Corbin’s wife had fearful blue eyes, but Dean wasn’t afraid. Not today.  
“Yeah, I do.” He relaxed into that peace, pushed the survival instinct out of his mind away and tossed back the handful of pills. For a moment, everything was normal – the plastic, bitter tablets and the harsh burn of the purple solution he’d washed it down with swam in his throat and tongue, but…  
“Dean?” The voice didn’t sound quite right. The world bulged and hot prickles reeled over his forehead to dance in front of his vision. His throat closed, but Dean didn’t have time to panic. A wash of black swiped over the hospital storage room before him and he hardly felt his body crash to the ground.

Back at the murder fest, Sam watched from the shadows as this biker-wannabe idiot wandered straight into his territory and dipped his finger into the puddle of Sam’s blood. Go on. Lick it up, Sam thought. It’ll probably poison your sorry ass.  
But no, the werewolf just lumbered across the room, like he thought he knew Sam. Bitch didn’t know him at all. His mistake. He was Sam fucking Winchester, who looked fantastic even bleeding his entrails out. Sam hi-fived his own hair and turned his predatory gaze back to the frizz-a-licious disaster in front of him. The werewolf reached for the half-crate, and Sam utilized stealth that even super werewolf hearing couldn’t pick up. Moose vs Wolf. The wolf hit the ground with a clatter and a silver knife through his heart. Amateur. ‘I’m A Boss Ass Bitch’ began to thump through Sam’s brain as the fake-ass barmaid waltzed down the stairs, her last smug grin plastered all over her face.  
You really have no idea who you’re messing with here do you? The wounded tiger in the cage thought as he slammed his knife into her heart. A boss ass bitch, that’s who.  
Sam patted down her jacket, stole her keys and every penny of cash she had on her. Donations toward the hospital bills, because although his body had been to awesome to die, it hadn’t quite got the hang of rejuvenating cells Wolverine style yet. Something to work on, body, Sam told himself and hauled his nickel-bouncing ass back up those lucky, lucky stairs. He rounded the door and staggered out toward the car. Any normal human would have passed out by now, or at least be dizzy. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was because Sam’s mind was too used to registering _hardcore_ pain to react like a normal human. Either way, Sam shrugged, slumped into the car and tyre-squealed James Bond style on the dirt forest floor out of there. What do we say to Death? Not today.

Unless, of course, you are Dean Winchester. But due to fantastic use of medical skill and a stroke of near God-inspired luck, the older brother did not find himself being tossed out of existence, but back, vomiting his guts out over the hospital floor. So Sam wasn’t dead, which meant that they’d basically just done a Romeo and Juliet with more guns, monsters and medical prowess. Ugh. Dean retched as his stomach burned and his throat felt as though the skin had been stripped straight off. Maybe next time he’d just go for a nice drowning.  
“He’s alive.” Dean rasped out. Alright, maybe he didn’t have as much of a high pain tolerance as Sam, who probably wouldn’t notice if his leg got chopped off, but he’d been through a bit of the ol’ demon torture too. A sore throat could take a seat.  
“He?” The incredible, medal-worthy doctor interjected.  
“Sam? Oh thank God.” Corbin’s wife sighed with relief, even though everything must be nine kinds of crazy to her right now.  
“Yeah not so much. I need a car.” Dean’s vision blurred for a moment, and he caught himself on the table behind him. Sam needed saving. Sam needed protecting. Sam was bleeding out as they stood around and dealt with formalities.  
“No, no not a chance.” Taser-douchebag was looking for another smack in the chops.  
“Look pal, I’m not askin’.” Dean’s stomach decided he was too queasy to throw a punch, but if asshat insisted, he might make an exception.  
“Hey, look psycho. I got you for stealing and consuming a felony’s worth of scheduled-for drugs, plus assaulting a police officer.” It seemed the police officer had no soul. He’d just watched a man commit suicide right in front of him and was quoting America’s bad healthcare system out his ass. Not to mention whining about the booboo Dean had given him. Hell, he would hardly have a bruise! Pathetic. But apparently less pathetic than Dean right now. The older Winchester’s balance canted and before he got his bearings, he’d been trussed up like some back alley criminal. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere. Sedate him.”  
“No.” The lifesaver of the day looked at Mr Broken Nail over there like he was insane, but the cop just didn’t give up.  
“Can we have a word outside please?”  
Oh finally. They left and Dean turned his Disney-green eyes on his blonde friend. They didn’t quite have the power of Sam’s puppy dog eyes, but today, it did the trick.

Sam tumbled out of the unnecessarily large pimp ute in a flourish of manly moose-grunts, rugged, unshaved cheekbones and hair that belonged on a catwalk. But Sam had no time to admire his epicness in the polished exterior of the black monster truck, so he stumbled back to the Impala and struck a pose, just in case Google Earth was taking pictures. After his obligatory dedication to his own fabulousness, Sam fished around in his jacket and pulled out his phone. Well Hallelujah, praise the Cas, it had signal. He dialled Dean’s number, a choice few sentences in his mind: ‘Hoe, you left me to die and saved the asshole that killed me, didn’t you?’ or maybe ‘Bitch, I murdered the stupid fucks, how are you, I’m bleeding to death.’ or even ‘Dean, get the camera. My hair looks really fantastic right now and I’m not sure whether Google Earth was taking pictures.’ Because Sam had his priorities sorted.  
“Sammy?” That’s Sam fucking Winchester to you.  
“Yeah.” Sam breathed and made sure he sounded like he was in a lot of pain.  
“Oh god…What happened?” Dean exhaled into the phone, but Sam didn’t have time for cissy shit like feelings.  
“Dean, where are you?”  
“I’m at the urgent care on 54.” Dean’s voice sounded raw and wrecked, but if he’d thought Sam was dead, he’d probably drunken the record amount of alcohol for the amount of hours they’d been apart.  
“Is Corbin with you?” Sam would have asked his brother to stab a bitch for him, but as the phone cut out, he realized that poetic justice would be the most healthy course of action right now. So he clawed his way into the Impala, slammed the door and gunned the shit out of the pedal. It took Sam minutes, and he screamed into the emergency care carpark like Fast and Furious: On Steriods. Sam did a 180 handbrake turn into a parking space, lurched out of the car and barrelled into the foyer like a moose on a mission. Everyone stared at his bleeding stomach and great hair, but Sam was on a murder spree and didn’t appreciate roadblocks.  
“Corbin, now!” Sam yelled at the front desk and the shocked guy spluttered out a room and ward. Sam took one look at the stairs and noped toward the elevators. One arrived as though the fear of God had been struck into it. Then for about thirty seconds, Sam panted to the chill sounds of elevator music. But as soon as the doors ‘dinged’ open, heavy metal filled Sam’s head again and he slid out into the corridor and sped like a Thriller extra around the corner toward Corbin’s room number. Oh typical. There was Dean being strangled to death by the same guy who’d choked Sam. Kinky bastard. Bitch you killed me, and now I’m back to murder your ass. Don’t fuck with the Winchesters, you weak-ass little pet store puppy. Sam raised his gun and nailed the back-stabbing hoe right in the heart. Looked like Sam was having revenge salad for lunch today, with a dash of epic in the dressing.  
“It took you long enough!” Dean grated out, so Sam stared straight into his soul, then collapsed. 

While Sam was having the Mountain Dew or whatever removed from his veins, Dean found himself being the ultimate hypocrite with Corbin’s wife.  
“I’m sure this is gonna be very hard.” The wrote-slate words rolled off his tongue with ease, like he’d said to a hundred victims before. “But you will be ok and eventually…eventually you’ll be back to normal.”  
“No I won’t.” The woman’s voice quavered and she looked down. “They said I could leave an hour ago but…where am I even supposed to go? After everything we survived together... I watched the man I love die. There’s no normal after that.”  
The words cut through Dean like a surgeon’s scalpel. It was as though he were watching Cas’s familiar face contort into Lucifer all over again; he could see himself in her eyes and the pain there squeezed his heart. Cas was as good as dead, in fact worse. Every time he’d died, some miracle had reassembled him, had brought him back. But now there was no miracle. There was no expected ‘poof Cas is back _somehow_ and you didn’t have to lift a finger’. It was almost worse than when Cas had been obliterated, because how did you bring back an angel? Where did they even go when they died? Dean had thought about these questions a thousand times over, but now they were irrelevant. Lucifer had Cas now and Dean had to save him, because it had to be possible. It was his fault if he couldn’t bring back Cas this time, even if the angel never wanted to even look at him again. The short guy in a trenchcoat had taken a piece of Dean with him, no matter how hard Dean tried to deny it and he needed…he needed to be complete again. Dean knew he was a shell. Sam and Cas were all that gave him purpose, his brother and his… The hunter couldn’t even bring himself to think the obligatory word ‘friend.’ Without them he’d kill himself, no second thought; that had been proved today. The words ‘weak’, ‘useless’ and ‘selfish’ crashed around in his head, so Dean rose and headed to Sam’s bedside. The sight of his brother, breathing and alive would give him more peace than wrestling inside his own head. He couldn’t even pray anymore, because the only angel he ever prayed to, the only small comfort he found in solitude, was gone and Dean couldn’t…Dean didn’t know how to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally LOVING the way they write Sam again!! *yay* *my bebe moose* Hope you enjoyed that bit of fun, next episode it sounds like Cas is back, so we'll see what we can do. Sam has had the Mountain dew removed from his veins, so he may or may not be a psycho badass in the future. Also did anyone catch Corbin's wife's name? Cause I didn't :/ May the blessings of this, the day of the Mishapocalypse be upon ye, friends; go in peace to love and serve our blank-faced overlord. Amen.


	12. Hell's Angel - Part 1 (The Repressed Bisexuality Strikes Back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not so long time ago, in an angst-chasm deep, deep down... Dean's bisexuality rallied a rebel force to break out of hiding and destroy the Evil Repression.  
> In Other News, the Lucifer-concert has an intermission, which is far worse than it sounds.

It had been a week and a bit until Dean could actually eat solid food again. He’d told Sam he’d picked up some crappy throat bug from the Emergency Centre, but no matter how much he coughed and emptied his stomach over the first few days, he wouldn’t let his brother take him to a doctor. Yeah, next time he’d drown himself in the frickin toilet if he had to. Pills just had to much of a gross side-effect if you survived. Without his usual bedtime alcohol dose (in case he went catatonic again), Dean’s sleeping deteriorated to the point where it was pure exhaustion around every two or three days that sent him under. Every night was a variable playlist of _What Is Cas Up To Now And How Does He Feel About You?_ Lucifer’s words echoed through his head: _he’s about as good-looking as a tattered dish cloth right now. A bloodied, broken, half-dead dish cloth – I’m sure you know what that looks like, Dean._ And all Dean could see was Cas’s bloodied face beneath him, eyes glazed with pain as his swollen jaw dripped blood. Dean would do anything to trade places with Cas, to give himself to the Devil as a punching bag instead, but he could do nothing and the helplessness wrenched at his chest as he tossed and turned in darkness every night. And about how Cas felt…  
Maybe…maybe Lucifer was lying…maybe, maybe Cas didn’t hate him; the hopeful part of Dean squirmed and tried to push past the heavy weight of shame. Or maybe he does hate you and maybe you deserve it, another part of Dean shouted. Now Cas was gone…isn’t that how it always worked? You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. Dean knew he’d taken his…the angel for granted, and he wanted to apologize, sob, beg on his knees for Cas to forgive him, to come back to him – them. He missed those furrowed, confused eyebrows, those big blue eyes, that rare smile that was sometimes wide and open, sometimes small but warm as a summer day. Dean craved to hear Cas’s voice again, Cas’s real voice, not the high whine that Lucifer brought out his throat. Sometimes when he looked in the mirror or when he was alone in his car, Dean looked away and looked back, the hope that Cas would appear behind him or beside him still on blink in his head.  
The hole Cas left ate at him. It ached and ate and squirmed deeper and deeper inside of him until it wasn’t just the overdose that made him ill, that put him off his food or sleep. Dean couldn’t ignore it, he couldn’t deny that he was pining, no matter how cissy or weak that sounded; he was pining for Castiel. Tonight…tonight he just couldn’t take it. He couldn’t listen to the thuds and crunches of his own hands breaking Cas’s bones and the cries and grunts of pain he’s drawn out of the angel so determined to stop him, so determined to _save_ him. Every hit tore into him as though he were beating himself to a pulp. Dean sat up from the simple Men of Letters bed and reached over to grab the half-empty bottle of whiskey tucked into his drawers. The top scraped open with the grate of dried liquor. So what if he comatosed or even went to the brink of death? It couldn’t be worse than this. A sigh of relief sank through Dean’s body as the burning liquid and familiar flavour washed through him. Maybe it was the placebo effect or feeding his addiction, but already the hole didn’t feel so raw anymore. Good. Good. Dean downed another swallow, then another, aware that he shouldn’t be drinking so fast because it would catch up with him in one hit, but he couldn’t stop. Cas’s voice – his real voice – swam into Dean’s head, just with a simple ‘hello Dean.’ That simple greeting had frickin conditioned him into relief or happiness; every time he heard it, a little light flared up inside him. Dean’s vision swam, and he downed the last drop of whiskey before he flopped back down on the bed as the light-headedness hit him. This was much better. His brain swam, all fuzzy and high above the river of grief inside him. Dean’s fingers heated and fizzed, and a small, distracted smirk rode his lips as his eyes listed. This was good. Nothing seemed to matter, nothing but the dizzy sensation and the odd, happy rush booze brought. Heat rushed up his stomach and chest, but not the bad kind; this was the heat that made Dean’s lips tingle and breath come faster. Yes, he went through all phases of drunk – as a Deanmon, he’d been annoying and violent. When he was depressed, he clawed his nails into his arms and tried to pass out, tried not to cry if Sammy was there. But mostly? Mostly he was a horny drunk, and tonight was no exception. Dean hauled himself around so he was the right way on the bed and collapsed back as the movement made the world spin. His legs dropped open as heat rushed up to his cock and pushed it into an resolute bulge.  
“Mmm…” Dean moaned in frustration. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, he shouldn’t be indulging when the world was about to explode or whatever, when Cas was Luci’s chew toy, but his body insisted that he hadn’t got laid in well over…what, a month or two? And now it saw an opportunity to take advantage of him. Dean panted and drew a hand over his hot face, but all his drunk brain could focus on was his erection and how to satisfy it. The hunter growled in frustration and ground his ass into the bed. His back arched and he stared up at the blurred ceiling in unsteady defiance. Fine. Fine, fine, fine. Dean peeled his shirt off his already-burning body, but it took a moment for his addled brain to fumble around the concept of jean buttons. By the time he wrapped his hand around his naked cock, it was so sensitive that spasms shot up his stomach and through his thighs, and Dean gave a groan of relief. He was so out of it that he didn’t even care if Sammy Sam Samantha heard; wouldn’t be anything new to him anyway. Two guys on the road, with each other 24/7 had to come to terms with the fact that they had to get off once in a while, and they’d come to the silent agreement that if they didn’t talk about it, they hadn’t noticed.  
“Mmm.” Dean tilted his head back and closed his eyes, brain on filter to find the woman of the night. He hadn’t watched porn in so long, it took him a while to fix on some buxom, brunette from…ugh he didn’t know where. Some…where. Dean gave his shaft a tentative stroke, as he peered down at perfect tits in his imagination. Mmmm…nah, it didn’t have the right buzz, so he made some adjustments. There: a black-haired beauty straddled his lap, glossy lips sucking on his mouth as he pressed his body against her perky nipples…mmm, he _could_ stroke himself to climax with that, but it wouldn’t be amazing, and he felt like a treat tonight... because hell, he had no idea when he’d be able to convince himself he was allowed to indulge in this again. A few more…a few more alterations. Her eyes would be blue, yeah, real pretty blue and shorter hair. Then…then…Dean panted and found himself on his back, just how he was in reality, with his legs splayed open as the rush of alcohol from a few minutes ago hit him and sent tingles to every inch of his body. Dean’s breath came faster and he licked his lips. Ugh, he wanted, he wanted…in his imagination, the skin of his lover’s jaw felt rough on his fingers. The small moans were lower, and the scent of rain on tarmac and thunderstorms filled his head. Yes, fuck yes, his cock twitched and Dean looked up in his fantasy and saw Castiel’s chiselled jaw and sapphire blue eyes, felt the warmth and hardness of the angel’s body between his legs.  
“No, no, get out of my head!” Dean moaned, but his cock throbbed and pre-come beaded the tip with the promise of a good orgasm. Fuck. Fuck it. He kicked his jeans as far off as he could and tried to imagine the way those pretty lips would push against his, what Castiel would taste like, how his jet black hair would feel between Dean’s fingers…Dean opened his legs wider and stroked himself in a long, hot, slow rhythm as he imagined Cas’s ragged breaths, imagined what it would be like to have the angel inside of him. In a drunk, crazy stupor, Dean flipped over and arched his ass up in the air; he held himself up with one hand as the other worked his desperate cock.  
“Fuck!” The quiet, high gasp ghosted out of his mouth as a wave of desire and enthusiasm at this unusual position danced through his stomach. The image of Cas biting his lip as he admired Dean’s body filled his head. Dean could feel Cas’s hands about his hips, then one slid over his ass cheek and spread him.  
“Mmm, yeah.” Dean gave a ragged pant, but dared not open his eyes in case he snapped back to the real world and denied himself this fucking amazing orgasm. In real life he knew there’d be lube, he knew there’d be a ton of lube, but this was his head and he could skip that shit. Dean’s fantasy provided him with the imagined sensation of Cas’s cock pressed against his opening, then he gave a gasp and had to snatch his hand away from his needy cock before the sensation became too much and he came too soon. No. No, he wanted to see this thing out to the end, to enjoy as much as he could take. After a few breaths, Dean went back to that hot thickness inside him as it slid right up against that magic spot. He had never allowed himself to experiment with prostate stimulation, but imagined it was good if it was the male G-spot. It had to be good – better than good even. The hunter gave a muffled moan into the duvet as the Cas in his imagination curled his hand into Dean’s hair and pulled back so that in his mind his spine arched and his ragged breath filled the air from a slack mouth. Cas moved with a quick, hard thrust, then again and again as Dean’s ass, thighs and lower back rippled with the force.  
“Cas, Cas…” Dean panted in the real world, and gyrated his ass into the imagined cock behind him as the same motion jacked him off into his hand. In Dean’s mind, he could see himself on his hands and knees, being taken like a dog and _Jesus_ it almost sent him over the edge! But he clung on as the imaginary Cas dropped Dean’s head back down again and breathed “Fuck, Dean.”  
“Yes…” Dean moaned and his arm collapsed from drunken dizziness and pleasure; where he fell, saliva pooled in a damp spot onto his pillow. Fuck, he was too smashed to care about anything, and this was too good to stop. He buried his face in the cushion, kept his ass up in the air and pitched back in to his own personal porno. One of Cas’s hands pinned down the back of his neck as the other gripped his hips, and Dean’s head craned to the side in both his mind and real life as he tried to gasp in air around the pillow. Dean imagined the hard planes of Cas’s body pressed against his back as he aced the hunter’s g-spot again and again with all sorts of grunts and low noises near his ear that Dean guessed the gravel-voiced angel might be capable of. Then Castiel pushed Dean’s right wrist into the mattress with one hand and bit into the sensitive skin right on the back of his neck with expression of undeniable possession and pleasure, Dean imagined as his thighs shook and his cock pulsed, dangerously close to the brink of bliss. He imagined he had to use his left arm to brace himself against the headboard to stop his head smacking against it from the force of Cas’s thrusts. Fuck, this was going to be good. Fuck…Dean’s drunk and pleasure-addled brain couldn’t keep up the details of the fantasy, and all that ran through his head was that Castiel had him pinned down on the mattress, fucking him to kingdom come. He could hear Cas’s deep, broken voice in his head, crying out his name, he could feel that hot shaft in a sweet rhythm inside him, he was held down in a wonderful iron grip as Castiel drove him hard into the mattress, oh no, no, no _fuck!_ Heat pelted up his cock in the unmistakable rush and Dean bit into his pillow to muffle the ragged cry that tore from behind his teeth. He somehow managed to contain most of his come in his hand, and collapsed on his side, the world on spin cycle from booze and orgasmic bliss. Dean panted and whimpered into his own arm as the realization of what he’d just done curdled inside him. No, no, he didn’t want that, he couldn’t want that…sonofabitch…a leftover wave of pleasure shook him again, and his eyes watered or he cried from confusion and pleasure, Dean had no clue. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, why couldn’t this be easy…all of a sudden the looming wave of alcoholic black-out crept in, and he snatched some tissues from the nightstand beside him. Before it could claim his consciousness, Dean wiped up what he could, dragged a blanket over himself and passed out, jeans still tangled around his ankles and shirt somewhere in the bed with him. The last thing he thought before dizziness wiped his mind was that he was _so_ going to hate himself in the morning.

***

After they returned from being banished, Lucifer had just thrown the broken thing that was Castiel into his own memories and left him alone. At first it hadn’t been so bad, in fact it seemed a mercy; but the Devil was not renowned for his compassion. Castiel’s ringing ears hadn’t be able to hear the conversation between Lucifer and Dean, but he’d seen what had happened. Dean had distracted the archangel, Dean had almost torn Castiel’s essence in two when the angel had hung helpless, unable to save the human he loved so much, unable to even move. He’d been so sure that Lucifer would rip both the Winchesters apart, but in another commemoration to Castiel’s own uselessness, Sam had banished them both. At first, alone in his own mind, Castiel had told himself that it was logical, logical and very reasonable. Of course it was. They’d all saved each other’s lives over again, of course the Winchesters would come up with a lucky escape. Castiel had clung to the physical pain of his ripped essence and broken wings to distract himself from the black shapes that moved under the surface of his thought. After weeks, or months or years – Castiel had no way of telling the time, and in his head it could have been as long as any of these – the pain had dulled, then petered away, until he was only left with his own mind. Those shapes came closer. Whether it was Lucifer bringing them to bear, or Castiel’s own un-angelic emotions, he had no idea, but come they did. At first it was like a gentle breeze; whispered thoughts in the back of his head. Unneeded, they said. Unwanted, useless, expendable, tool. In the beginning, Castiel still had tiny scraps pain to cling on to, to ground himself in logic and reasoning, but the whispers grew and the pain diminished.  
_You’re Lucifer’s vessel._ They whispered. _Sam and Dean will be willing to accept your sacrifice. They’ll kill you and Lucifer together._  
No, Castiel had growled back. No, they would never do that.  
But he swallowed and something clotted in his chest.  
_Lies._ The voices murmured. _They don’t care about you, Castiel. They use you like a tool, but when a tool is too old and too broken, it gets thrown out and replaced._  
No! No! Castiel had yelled to his empty head, and deep down his gut twisted.  
_You’re broken. You’re useless._ The murmur grew, until the angel couldn’t block it out. _Your world was the Winchesters, your world was Dean and now they don’t want you anymore. He doesn’t want you Castiel. He never wanted you. Needed your power, yes, but he never wanted you. You’ve been living in a delusion, you gullible, stupid angel. Time to wake up._  
No! Castiel had covered his ears and screamed. He’d barrelled through his memories as he yelled himself hoarse at silence. He shattered through the walls of his mind, through his memories and hurled whatever he could get his hands on at the imagined direction of the voices, he punched mirrors that reflected his own speaking face, he destroyed and screamed and tried to claw the voices, his own voice, from his mind until there was nothing left within him but dry, empty sobs. Unwanted, useless, expendable, tool. Unwanted, useless, expendable, tool. Over and over again. Castiel curled up and again and again, over days, months or years he burst out into grief that wracked through him, worse than physical pain because he didn’t know how to heal it. He didn’t know how to make it end or how to find comfort, because he couldn’t even remember how the eyes and voice that had once consoled him had done so. Castiel could feel himself breaking apart in this wild, horrendous anguish, this desolate sorrow, and he even wished for Lucifer to visit him or torture him just so that he didn’t have to be alone with his own screaming thoughts anymore. But the archangel was nowhere to be seen, and there was no solace, not even in the characters of memory. After an unknown amount of time, Castiel sat up from the floor. A different angel rose up out of that heap than the one that had collapsed there; his eyes were empty and dull. His shoulders hung slack and no expression touched his face. There was no hope or strength in the way he held himself and if he had spoken, the angel’s voice would have been a flat drone of hollow sound. Castiel couldn’t bear to feel anymore, so he’d slammed the gates shut on everything that caused pain. He was a tool. His purpose was to be used as Lucifer saw fit, maybe forever. There was no use fighting it or trying to retain a hope that one day he’d be himself again. Why would he ever want to be himself again? There was nothing out there anymore. ‘Defeat the Darkness at whatever cost’ was the command that spun on repeat in his brain. Castiel was just a soldier doing his duty, a cog in a larger wheel, and if he got destroyed for the greater good, then so be it. But Castiel couldn’t sit alone in the silence and wait for the whispers to return. Memories were not an option; they’d bring the whispers back faster. Then the angel remembered back to when he’d been sick and alone, and escaped with the distraction of television. That…that he could do. So Castiel flitted about his memories and found one he hadn’t smashed in his grief. Even the sight of his own destruction didn’t even garner a sigh. Castiel just felt too empty to even construct facial expressions or emotion. Nothing really mattered any more except that he serve his part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello angst-smut sandwich my old friend. As a fellow regretee of drinking more than half a litre of hard liquor in under an hour, I have to say that I give Dean the benefit of a lifetime of alcohol consumption, which is the only thing that saves him from a probably almost dying again. In fact, a full blackout is very merciful lol :P Stay classy friends, and don't be like me n Dean. Thank you so much to everyone who had left comments and kudos, you are all amazing! c: as always, I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter! I'm extremely very busy right now, so I may wait for the next Supernatural episode to come out so that I can get a better grip of the story until the next update. We'll see! :) hang in there! Stay cool guys n.n


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